The Empress
by eruestansurana
Summary: The Blight has been over for a year, and the Orlesian Empress comes to call, much to a certain Queen of Ferelden's dismay... Prequel to The Rebellion...Kinda
1. Preparations

It was a dark night in Denerim. The streets of the Market District were quiet, their people long gone home to rest.

However, in a particularly black corner, two men spoke in whispered tones, cloaks held over their faces.

"Are you sure this will work?" one asked in a strong Antivan accent.

The other nodded. "It has taken many years, but Celene finally trusts me more than any other. I'll be able to deliver her to you easily."

"But the Grey Wardens…"

"The Grey Wardens won't know until it's too late," the other man said calmly. "Besides, I intend for them to serve us a special purpose."

"Very well." The Antivan crossed his arms and bowed. "I shall see you when the day comes."

The other man bowed as well. "Maker watch over our ambitions."

With a silent nod, the two men parted into the night, their dark promise hanging in the air.

Rowena blew the hair out of her face, arms held out to her side.

"How much longer?" she whined, trying to scratch the end of her nose by just wriggling it.

"Oh, hold still," Leliana said impatiently. She was busy sticking pins into the gown being molded around Rowena's body. One accidentally poked through the cloth and jabbed into Rowena's flesh.

"OUCH!" Rowena jumped off the stool, shooting her friend a nasty look.

"Well, if you hadn't moved around so much…"

Rowena stuck her tongue out at her. "It's not like I wanted this dress to begin with," she mumbled, flapping her arms uselessly in a sea of fabric. "Remind me why I need it again?"

Wynne, who had been standing at the other side of the room, sighed. "You're the Queen of Ferelden now, Rowena," she said tiredly. "You're expected to make a favorable impression on foreign heads of state."

"Well, then, why can't I just greet Empress Celene with my armor on and a bloodied sword in hand?" Rowena smiled. "I bet that'd impress something on her."

Leliana clutched her head in exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell you this, Rowena? In Orlais, a female fighter—especially a _royal_ female fighter—is unheard of. The Empress probably never held a sword in her life. She'd never expect you to greet her like that."

"In case you've forgotten, Leli," Rowena said irritably, "I killed an Archdemon about, what, a year ago? I think Celene knows I like to fight by this point."

Leliana blanched. "Do not call her Celene!" she whispered quickly. "You must always refer to her as Her Imperial Majesty!"

Rowena rolled her eyes. "And will she call me My Royal Majesty? Please. The instant I start calling her that, she'll start thinking I feel inferior to her—which, by the way, I most certainly do not."

Leliana opened her mouth to say something, but was promptly cut off by a loud knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Rowena called, thankful for a distraction.

"It's us," a familiar voice sounded back.

"Oh, come in!" Rowena said delightedly.

Wynne and Leliana both gasped loudly. "NO!" they cried, jumping to their feet.

"You can't allow _men_ inside your dressing chamber!" Wynne said indignantly.

"Especially like this!" Leliana said in horror, pointing at the loosely draped silk wrapping around Rowena's body.

"Bah!" Rowena said crossly, gathering up the collected cloth. "It's only Alistair and Eruestan!"

"That doesn't change anything!" Wynne said. "Think about what the Orlesian ladies would say!"

Oh, come off it!" Rowena snapped. "Alistair is my husband—he's seen me in far less clothing than this! And besides, who _didn't_ see each other changing during the Blight? I swear," she said, shaking her head, "one Orlesian says she's coming to visit and both of you up and lose your minds!" She crossed the room and threw open the door irritably, to have a brightly colored costume shoved in her face.

"Well, good morning to you too," she said sardonically, brushing the clothes aside.

Alistair stared at her irritably. "I see Leliana got to you too."

Rowena sighed. "She's in here, don't worry. Morning, Eruestan."

The mage grimaced at her, holding a bundle of brilliant cloth as well.

Alistair stomped over to Leliana and held the outfit under her nose. "Leliana, what is this?" he said hotly.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that a trick question?"

He shook the cloth a little. "It has _bows_, Leliana. The tunic you gave me has _bows._"

"And ribbons," Eruestan piped up. "Don't forget the ribbons."

"At least you don't have to be a huma—er, a living pincushion," Rowena said, giving an apologetic look to Eruestan. The elf waved it off.

Leliana stared at all of them coolly. "So what if it has bows, and ribbons? It is the height of Orlesian fashion."

"I don't care about Orlesian fashion, Leliana!" Alistair snapped. "I look like a girl in this!"

"Wynne, help me," Leliana said wearily.

Wynne sighed. "Alistair, you've been king for less than a year now. You're 19 years old, you've had no formal training in politics, and your country has just started rebuilding from a terrible Blight. Empress Celene is 30, rules the most powerful nation in Thedas, and has lived and breathed politics since she was a little girl. It's important that you make a good first impression."

He stared at her. "And I'm going to achieve that with _bows_?"

"Will you leave the bows alone already?" Leliana snapped. "It's not like yours is pink or anything!"

"No, love," Eruestan said calmly, "that's because mine is."

Leliana instantly blushed and suddenly became very interested in the view outside the window.

Eruestan cleared his throat. "I, uh, noticed that the clothes you gave me, along with being a slightly violent shade of pink, have bells sewn into them. Leli, why's that?"

"Oh, look, there's a very cute little bird eating grain out in the courtyard," Leliana said quickly. "Oh, isn't that sweet!"

Rowena stared curiously at the clothes Eruestan held. "Hang on…I think I've seen outfits like those before! Yeah, at Highever, when my father entertained an Orlesian lord! Those were the clothes the…" (she suddenly broke into a very broad, very wicked grin) "…dancers…wore…"

"WHAT?" Eruestan spun around towards Leliana, who was now pressing her face so hard against the glass her skin was becoming distorted. "Explain, please!"

"Oh, don't get so excited," Leliana said loudly over Rowena and Alistair's shouts of laughter. "It's just that Empress Celene probably hasn't seen very many elves outside of her court entertainers, so I thought…"

"Leli," Eruestan said, teeth clenched, "I am _not_ just a servant. I am the Chancellor to the King of Ferelden. I am a mage. I am a Grey Warden. Maker, I killed an Archdemon! I think I rank a _little _bit higher than a dancer at this point!"

"Oh, pff," she said dismissively, picking up a pin once more; with a sigh, Rowena assumed her position. "You're not actually going to _sing_ or anything. I just don't want to confuse the Empress, that's all."

"Darling, I love you very, very much," Eruestan said sweetly, "but I'm afraid that if you make me wear this I might be forced to kill you."

She smiled. "You're cute."

He crossed his arms.

She sighed. "Fine. Just…wear something appropriate, alright?"

Alistair perked up. "Does that mean…?"

"Fine! Just wear your nice blue tunic!" Leliana snapped.

"Ooo, that makes his eyes stand out so beautifully!" Wynne said appreciatively.

"I know, right?"

"His eyes are _always_ beautiful," Rowena said, a little hurt. Suddenly, an idea popped into her head. "Wait, if they can go, does that mean..."

"NO," Leliana and Wynne said firmly. Leliana picked up another pin and jabbed it through the silk once more, perhaps a little more forcefully than need be.

Rowena sulked, eyebrows furrowed. Being a woman was _so_ unfair sometimes.


	2. Bienvenue a Ferelden

Rowena's crown itched.

She and Alistair were both seated on their thrones, dressed in full royal regalia. Leliana had finally managed to finish Rowena's gown, and after much debate had got Rowena to wear it.

_It is pretty_, Rowena admitted reluctantly, resisting the urge to rip everything off and don the nearest armor she could find. The gown was made of light blue silk with intricate flower designs along the hems. Her long red hair was falling down her shoulders, and the delicate crown of the Queen of Ferelden rested on her head. So, yes, she did look quite beautiful.

But being beautiful doesn't run a country.

Her irritation must have shown, for at that moment someone gently placed their hand on hers. She looked over to see Alistair grinning at her empathetically. He rolled his eyes at the absolutely massive crown resting on his own head. She smiled and squeezed his hand a little.

Suddenly, the sounds of blaring trumpets jolted them into the moment. They both rose to their feet as the massive doors leading to the throne room were burst open. A large procession of men and women filed in, lead by a simply extraordinary woman.

She had long brown hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion. Her gown, which looked like it was made out of enough fabric to wrap her body three times over, was a shocking bright red that stood out dramatically amidst the dull colors of her entourage and gave nice contrast to her skin tone. Her tiara was enormous, a dazzling work in silver, sapphire, and diamond. She walked regally and gracefully, bearing her imperial presence down upon all who saw her.

Rowena, however, was not impressed. Her massive gown meant that she would be useless in battle, and while her gracefulness might do her well at a ball, it certainly would not help her against a darkspawn. A small look of condescension crept into her eyes, and she took a step forward off the dais.

"Empress Celene," she began.

However, the empress breezed right past her and fell prostrate at Alistair's feet. "My King," she purred in a thick accent. "How I have dreamed of this moment."

Rowena stood up straighter, completely taken aback. She looked back quickly at Alistair, who was looking at Celene as if she had walked into the room naked swinging a dead cat in the air.

"It's, uh, nice to meet…you…too," he said slowly as the empress began to kiss his boot. She rose to her feet; Alistair took a few steps back as if afraid she was going to bite him.

"But I forget myself! I have brought you _un cadeau_!" She motioned for a finely dressed elven servant to step forward with the absurdly large canvas he was carrying. The elf turned it around to reveal it to be a large rendition of Celene dressed as a Tevinter archon.

"Something with which you can remember me by after I have parted," the empress said with a wink.

Alistair and Rowena exchanged glances with each other, not sure whether to laugh out loud or be slightly offended. Clearing his throat, Alistair gestured to Eruestan and said, "Thank you, Your Majesty. We have a gift for you as well."

Eruestan stepped forward, dressed in an impressive suit of chainmail whose enchantments made it shimmer in the sunlight. He bowed, presenting a book encrusted in jewels to the empress. She took it with interest.

"We have heard many things about your intellect in Ferelden, Your Imperial Majesty," Eruestan said respectfully. "This is a tome on the life of Andraste written based on research from the Temple of the Sacred Ashes. I hope it meets the standards of the famous Imperial Library in Val Royeaux."

The empress looked shocked. Collecting herself, she cleared her throat and said, "I was unaware of the freedom of the Ferelden elves. In Orlais, for an elf to speak to a nobleman or a lady without being spoken to first…that is a very strange thing. But, then I am sure that I am mistaken."

Eruestan opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"Eruestan is my advisor," Alistair said stiffly.

The empress's eyes widened. "Your advisor? Oh! Well, that changes things…I beg your pardon, good ser."

Eruestan bowed his head coldly.

"This is my advisor, Guillame du Jader," Celene said quickly, trying to bridge over the awkwardness.

A thin, sallow, black-haired man stepped forward calmly. "It is a great honor to meet the fabled Grey Wardens," he said without a trace of an Orlesian accent.

"Ah, yes! But surely the greatest would be the man who slew the Archdemon!" Celene said slyly, bowing her head in Alistair's direction.

"Actually, that was a combined effort," Alistair said quietly. "I only managed to slice a hole in its neck, and that was only after Eruestan was able to distract it with his magic. Rowena was the one to finally bring it down."

The empress slowly turned to Rowena and cast an analyzing eye over her. Rowena wasn't sure what Celene was looking for, but she decided that she didn't like the way the empress was staring at her. Putting on a transparent smile, Rowena gave her best Teyrn's daughter curtsy and said, "_Enchant__é__e, Madame Imp__é__ratrice._" _Bet she didn't see that coming_, she thought smugly.

The empress, however, seemed unimpressed at Rowena's skills in Orlesian. "Ah yes. Queen Rowena." The woman assumed an odd expression. "We have heard…much…about you in Orlais as well."

"All good, I trust?" Rowena said calmly.

Empress Celene raised a finely molded eyebrow. "I suppose by Ferelden standards, yes…however, from the things I have heard, you would be considered…_unique_ in Orlais."

Rowena felt her blood boil. "Oh really? Because I can fight, instead of sitting around waiting for a man to save me like a…like a" (what had her mother called them again?) "like an Orlesian wallflower?"

"Quite frankly, yes," the empress said, eyes flashing. "But then, I suppose standards for ladies in Ferelden are a little different than those in Orlais…wouldn't you agree, Your Majesty?" she coyly asked Alistair. He froze, unwilling to insult the empress yet also not wanting to degrade his own country.

Leliana rushed forward to the rescue, eyes wide. "Your Imperial Majesty, you must be tired from your journeys. Please, allow me to show you to your chambers."

"Of course," the empress said coolly, staring back at Rowena with an unreadable look on her face. Rowena glowered back defiantly, not flinching under the older woman's gaze.

"Follow me, please," Leliana said, ending the tension. With an enraged look at Rowena, Leliana led the empress out of the throne room and into the private quarters of the palace. Barely able to constrain herself, Rowena motioned for the various courtiers to take their leaves as well.

"Did you win that?" Eruestan confusedly asked Rowena as the last noble left.

"Does it look like I give a damn?" she snapped, temper flaring. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and said, "Forgive me. I need to go stab something." She turned to Alistair. "Care to join me?"

"As long as I'm not the one getting stabbed," he grinned. He started to take off his crown, then stopped suddenly. "Although…perhaps it would be better if we entertained our Imperial guest?"

"More like an Imperial b—"

However, before she could finish, a wild look from Eruestan and Alistair cut her off. She spun around to see Guillame du Jader standing to her side.

He bowed before them. "If you please, Your Majesties, I would like to speak with you about the security at the palace."

The two looked at him strangely, but nodded and sat down at their thrones. "There really isn't much to it," Alistair said simply. "We have archers along all the walls and at every guard tower, and four squadrons of guards patrolling the grounds at all hours. Every entrance to the palace is watched over by at least four guards, and the gates leading to Fort Drakon and the city are both watched by their own small armies."

The man scribbled down all that they said on a piece of parchment, nodding intently. "When does the guard change?"

"Every six hours," Rowena said. "No one leaves their post until their replacement has arrived."

Guillame scribbled something down hastily. "Any secret passages leading into the palace?"

"Well, they wouldn't be very secret if we told you, now would they?" Rowena said with a smile.

He bowed once more, and began to take his leave. "I shall see Your Majesties at the banquet tonight?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Rowena muttered under her breath. Alistair disguised his laugh as a cough and said, "Certainly."

With a final bow, the Orlesian turned around and walked out of the throne room. Rowena leapt off her throne and shouted, "Last one to the training grounds has to sit next to Celene!"

"You're on!" And with that, the King and Queen of Ferelden chased each other down the palace corridors like children, Orlesian politics completely forgotten.


	3. Fine Dining

"I still can't believe you won," Rowena grumbled as she walked down the dimly lit hallway, Alistair at her side. "What in the name of the Maker am I going to say to her?"

He grinned. "Just talk about her. I think she'd like that."

She grimaced. "I don't think Celene will want to hear what I have to say about her."

Leliana sighed. "Oh, just talk about something feminine. Like dresses. Or shoes! Oh, speaking of which," she said to Eruestan, who was walking next to her, "I saw the most adorable pair of shoes in the market a few days ago—you should have seen them, they had lace, and ribbons, and…"

"I'll take your word for it," Eruestan said quickly, affectionately putting his arm around her.

"But I don't _want_ to talk about shoes, Leliana!" Rowena whined. "I don't know the first thing about fashion!"

"Oh, it's _easy_!" Leliana said, eyes sparkling. "Just say 'pink' and 'embroidery' a lot. Remember that Antivan gowns are very popular now, that Orlesian hairstyles are very in, and _anything's_ better than Anders fashion." A very longing expression came in her eyes. "Oh, I wish I could talk to her!"

"I do too," Rowena mumbled. Her eyes lit up. "Wait, why don't you?"

Leliana and Wynne (who was in the back) both gasped. "That would be highly inappropriate!" Leliana said, scandalized. "I'm not even a ranked noblewoman! Do you _want_ us to force the empress away?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Look on the bright side, Rowena," Eruestan said soothingly as they approached the doors leading to the great hall. "You only have to do this for a few weeks, and then Celene will set sail for Antiva, where, Maker willing, she will be attacked by assassins."

Rowena and Alistair laughed, then quickly composed themselves as the trumpets in the hall blared, announcing their presence. The doors opened, and the two walked into the room amidst a fanfare, everyone inside rising to their feet…except Celene, of course.

Alistair and Rowena approached their seats of honor at the head of the table. Instead of taking his regular seat next to the empress, Alistair stepped aside and motioned for his wife to sit down. "My lady," he whispered mischievously.

She flashed a face at him and sat down next to Celene. "The king and I figured that you would be more comfortable talking with me than him," she said smoothly to the Orlesian ruler.

If the empress was affected by this change in plans, she didn't let it show. She merely nodded, and then leaned over and said, "Your Majesty, the quarters in the palace are quite accommodating. I thank you for your generosity."

"Oh!" Alistair, who had been listening to a joke Eruestan was telling him, jumped and turned to the empress. "Um, I'm glad you like it."

"I had no idea the palace at Denerim was so large!" the empress said, eyes widened innocently.

"Um…yes…it is…"

"I wonder if you have heard the old saying about kings with large palaces…that they build them to compensate for areas in which they are…lacking…" She winked. "I am sure, however, that this is not the case for you."

Alistair blushed bright red and fixated on his water goblet. Rowena, however, became very calm. _Let's see, shall I stab her now with her dinner knife_? she contemplated tranquilly. _Or wait to drown her in the soup_?

However, before she could attack and thereby ruin a perfectly good meal, elven servants broke through the kitchen doors and began serving the food.

As custom, the main dish was brought out on a huge platter and presented to the three rulers at the head of the table. It was a large roast pig with a fat apple placed in its mouth—an Orlesian recipe that Leliana had taught the kitchen staff. It smelled wonderful.

Celene, however, sniffed and said, "Hm. It loses something in this Denerim air."

_Oh, not another wet dog reference_, Rowena thought crabbily. A true Ferelden, Rowena loved dogs very much, and it had hurt her very much to have to send her own mabari warhound, Heinrich, to Highever during Celene's visit. Yet another reason to hate Her Imperial Travesty.

However, at that moment Leliana caught Rowena's eye, and with a very expressive head movement told her to get a move with being a considerate hostess. With an internal sigh, Rowena turned to the empress and said, "So…that Anders fashion is terrible, isn't it?"

She made a noncommittal grunt and addressed Alistair again. "I imagine you wish to have children?"

"Erm…yes…" he said, unsure if whether or not Celene was making another innuendo.

"Now, correct me if I am wrong, but Grey Wardens cannot reproduce with one another?"

"It's…rare, that's true," Alistair said slowly, looking at her oddly. "But we're going to take our chances."

"But surely you want an heir as soon as possible?" the empress said, shocked. "There would be so much more security for you and the Therin line!"

"I suppose we could say the same about you, Empress," Rowena said hotly, eyes flashing. "Surely you worry about producing an heir to succeed to the Orlesian throne as well?"

The empress gave them both a very strange look. "I hope to remedy that," she said quietly. However, she seemed to catch herself at something, and with an embarrassed look motioned for one of her courtiers to step forward. "Shall we not have some music?" she asked quickly, gesturing for the noblewoman to commence. The lady began to sing a pretty song about springtime in Val Royeaux. The lady had a nice voice, but not a particularly strong one, and she seemed to have trouble reaching the higher notes in the melody. Rowena winced as the woman's voice cracked noticeably, jarring the whole song.

Rowena cast a sly glance down the table at Leliana, who was staring at the singer with an expression of indignant horror dawning on her face. The bard locked eyes with Rowena, and with a small nod motioned for a nearby servant to fetch her a lute.

As the Orlesian lady finished amidst a smattering of polite applause, Rowena winked and motioned for Leliana to step out into the crowd. Leliana brushed her light red hair out of her eyes and began a complex melody on the lute, fingers flying up and down the strings. Without even looking down, she began to sing a beautiful song about heartbreak on the steppes of the Anderfels. Her voice was quite ten times superior to that of the Orlesian noble, and Rowena noticed with satisfaction that everyone, including Celene, was completely transfixed by her performance. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she saw Guillame du Jader step up to his mistress and hastily whisper something in her ear. The empress straightened up immediately and shot a scrutinizing glare at Leliana. Confused, Rowena focused back on her friend, whose song was literally bringing tears to the eyes of some of the Orlesian nobles.

As the music stopped, the crowd clapped appreciatively, many ladies applying handkerchiefs to their eyes. Celene, however, rose to her feet and announced, "King Alistair, this girl is a traitor to the nation of Orlais. I insist that you release her into my custody."

"WHAT?" Eruestan leapt to his feet; Leliana paled visibly in the center of the crowd. "Leliana is innocent!"

"She sold important information to the enemies of Orlais," the empress said coldly. "I think I'll believe my own advisor in this case."

"She was framed!" Rowena said hotly, rising to her feet as well. "She never did anything like that!"

Celene's eyes narrowed. "And I am supposed to believe this drivel?"

"Yes," Alistair said calmly. "I'm sorry, Empress Celene, but Leliana has proven to be a trusted ally and a good friend. Rowena and I will stand by her till the end, and she will always be welcome in Ferelden."

The empress's face softened immediately. "My apologies, Alistair," she said, looking pained. "Of course she's innocent. How silly of me." She yawned very loudly and said, "I am afraid I am totally exhausted from tonight's festivities. If it does not displease you greatly, I shall retire for the evening."

Rowena stood up and curtsied. "Believe me," she said sweetly, "I want nothing more than for you to leave and get your rest."

The empress gave her a very fake smile, then turned around quickly and marched out the doors down the palace corridor, her entourage following her in its entirety.

Rowena sighed and flopped back down on her chair. _I knew I should have drowned her in the soup_, she thought miserably.


	4. Suspicions

"So now what do you think of her, Leliana?" Rowena asked cattily.

She stuck her tongue out at her. "Oh, don't be smarmy. It doesn't suit you."

Rowena sighed. She, Alistair, Eruestan, Wynne, and Leliana were seated in the garden the next morning, the sun bearing down on their necks. Rowena was dressed in yet another gown—this one was gold, slightly itchy, and hotter than hell.

Leliana started humming, picking a flower from a bush to put in an arrangement she was making. "I suppose I cannot blame her," she said thoughtfully, frowning as she tried to find the best place to place the blossom. "I mean, what would you two have done in her situation?"

"I'd let you go," Rowena said stubbornly.

"But you're only saying that because you know her," Wynne said fairly. "Imagine if…oh, I don't know…Rendon Howe took refuge in Orlais. Would you demand that the empress hand him over?"

Rowena's mouth fell open. "That's completely different! Howe killed my entire family!"

"And Celene thinks Leliana tried to kill her." Wynne reclined back into the shade. "You just have to be able to look at things from another person's point of view."

"Rowena has a point, though," Alistair said defensively. "Celene can't just assume that Leliana tried to kill her—it's not right!"

Wynne laughed. "When you're the Empress of Orlais, I think you get to decide for yourself what's right and what isn't."

"That's another thing, though," Eruestan said, bemused. "She wouldn't listen to Rowena or me, but when Alistair said something she changed her mind completely. That can't just be because she thinks she's better than us, can it?"

"That is odd," Alistair admitted. "I don't see why she's deferring everything to me. I mean, if she's just looking for noble blood, you'd think she'd appreciate yours, Wena."

"Thank the Maker she doesn't," Rowena muttered. "However, it is getting a _little_ annoying having her talk over me like I'm not even there."

"Well, there's an obvious reason for that," Leliana scoffed, carefully trimming the stem of a freshly-plucked rose.

"There is?"

"Why, yes, of course! Oh, no!" A large burst of wind blew the assorted flowers she had lying by the vase into the air; with a snap of his fingers, Eruestan summoned them back to the table. She smiled appreciatively and began sorting them into the arrangement.

Rowena cleared her throat. "You were saying?"

"Huh? Oh, right. Well, just look at the two of you. You're 18 to her 30, just as clever, and ten times more beautiful than she is."

"I am?" Rowena asked brightly.

"I could've told you that," Alistair mumbled.

"Oh, thank you, love. You're much prettier than Celene yourself."

"…Thank you?"

"Anytime."

"_Anyways_," Leliana said, clearing her throat, "Celene obviously feels threatened by you. And for good reason. She's conceited and has crow's feet."

"Fatal flaws indeed," Eruestan said dryly.

"For a royal woman, they are." Leliana stepped back delightedly from the flowers she had finished. "There! What do you think?"

Rowena stared at it. "It's very…pink."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Leliana said sulkily. "But anyways, Rowena, I don't think it's the empress's behavior towards _you_ that you have to worry about."

"Really?" Rowena asked, vaguely scratching at an area on her back she couldn't quite reach. "How's that?"

"Well, what you _should _be worrying about—oh, and please don't scratch like that, you'll wrinkle the dress—is her behavior with Alistair. She is far too flirty. She is…attempting something."

"Or maybe she's just enraptured by my handsome face and debonair personality," Alistair teased.

Leliana raised an eyebrow. "As I said, she is up to something."

Before Rowena could reply, a voice lilted across the gardens in their direction. She froze.

_Oh, please don't be her, please don't be her, please don't be her, please don't be her…_

"Why, Your Majesty!" Celene cried, walking up to the group. "Fancy meeting you here!"

_Damn._

"Yep…I'm here…" Alistair said lamely.

"And I can see why! Your _jardin_ is far superior to those of my own."

"Really?" Rowena asked, surprised. "We actually haven't had much time to repair things from the Blight. This is probably the only decent flower-bed in the whole park."

Celene stared at her condescendingly, rolled her eyes to the heavens, and smiled warmly once more at Alistair. "I was wondering, Your Majesty, if you would be so kind as to assist me with something. I have heard great things about the library of the palace. I hate to have to draw you away from your," (here, she coughed slightly and shot a discriminatory gaze over the group) "companions, but I am just so eager to see it! Perhaps you could show me the way?"

"Allow me, Your Imperial Majesty," Eruestan said, jumping to his feet. "I'd probably know the way better than Alistair."

The empress's smile became a little strained. "I thank you, good ser elf," she said quietly, "but I would prefer it if King Alistair were to show me the way."

"Oh! No, no, really, Eruestan, you go, I'm sure you could do the books more justice than—"

"I am waiting, Your Majesty," Celene said sharply.

Alistair shot a desperate look at Rowena that clearly translated as _HELP ME!_ She shrugged and responded, _I think you're on your own for this one._

With a sigh, Alistair reluctantly rose to his feet and escorted the empress back towards the palace.

"What did I tell you?" Leliana said quietly. "She is up to something."

"If anyone's up to something it's that Guillame du Jader," Eruestan said blackly, staring across the grounds at the darkly cloaked man seated in the shade. "I don't like the way he's always sneaking about all over the place."

"You can hardly blame him for wanting to watch over Empress Celene," Wynne said with a wan smile. "It's only his duty."

Eruestan scowled. "Still, I think it'd be better for all of us if we kept an eye on him as well," he said. "He's too sneaky for my tastes."

Leliana laughed. "And I'm not?"

"Well, you're not morally corrupt with a rat-face," Eruestan said, grinning. "Or male. That helps too."

Wynne looked anxiously at a sundial lying next to them. "I hope Celene doesn't keep Alistair too long," she fretted. "You two have court in an hour."

"Oh, no, that would be rude of Celene," Rowena said sarcastically. "And we all know that _ze Empresse of Orlais ees nevair roode to 'er 'osts_."

"That was a terrible accent," Leliana said sadly. "And _please_ stop scratching!"

Rowena sighed. These few weeks were going to go by very slowly.


	5. Differing Opinions

Rowena played nervously with the arm of her throne, smiling weakly at the elderly man standing in front of her.

"I'm sure the King will be here soon," she said quickly, shooting an anxious glance at the doors leading to the library. "He had…er….he had…"

"Matters of state to attend to," Eruestan said smoothly from where he stood behind her.

"Yes, thank you," she said gratefully. "King Alistair and Empress Celene had very important…things…to discuss about…darkspawn…"

"And I have something very important to discuss about those damn teenagers on the river!" the old man snapped, glowering. "The tradition of complaint's court is an ancient one in Ferelden! I can't believe the King would just defy our customs so boldly! I swear, when King Maric was on the throne, this would have…"

It was at this point that Rowena began to space out, eyes glazing over as the old man began an extensive rant on all that was wrong with Ferelden. He was a frequent visitor to the court—Rowena figured he had nothing better to do—and seemed to have a life's goal of making sure nobody anywhere had the slightest bit of fun.

Suddenly, the doors to the throne room burst open, and a harried-looking Alistair stalked through, trailed by Celene. Instantly, everyone at the court bowed low before the two sovereigns. Alistair, already blushing, muttered for them to stop and flopped down on his throne. Celene, however, took obvious pleasure in the attention and gracefully stalked through the crowd towards her throne of honor in the west wing of the chamber.

Alistair cleared his throat. "My apologies," he murmured, eyes to the floor. "Please, begin."

The court steward cleared his throat and looked down at the scroll of paper he was holding. "Arthur Holden with a complaint concerning the River Drakon."

The old man bowed. "Your Majesties are too kind," he said politely. "And I hope I'm not interfering with your discussions about the Blight, Sire."

Alistair stared at him confusedly and opened his mouth to say something; Rowena, however, nudged him in the side and shot him a look that clearly stated, _Play along_.

"Er…no, don't worry," Alistair said slowly, obviously a little bemused. "Thank you for asking. Now, why are you here? Are your neighbors' children still playing outside your house?"

"No, Your Majesty, little Anna-Maria caught the plague last month and they haven't been outside since," the old man said gleefully. "Anyways, today I'm here about those hooligans who've been fishing on the Drakon. You see…" He pulled out a chart from his cloak and began to give a long, winding proposal to do something horrible to the perpetrators.

"Where were you?" Rowena whispered to Alistair as the old man became absorbed into his presentation. "I thought you were just showing her the library!"

"So did I," he hissed. "But then she asked me to drag books off the shelves for her…and then she asked me to explain the concept of a Freeholder…and then she insisted about talking about the Urn of Sacred Ashes…it was a little grueling."

"Well, it doesn't sound _that_ bad," Rowena said gently. "I mean, she could have groped you or something…"

Alistair winced. "Well, about that…"

"WHAT?"

Suddenly, someone coughed loudly behind them; they both jolted and looked back to see Eruestan shooting them death glares. Horrified, they swiveled around to see the old man staring at them with mild indignation.

"Erm…I mean…what? Fishing in the river?" Rowena said lamely. "That's…crazy…"

"Definitely," Alistair said, just as unconvincingly. "We'll…look into it."

"Thank you, Your Majesties," the old man said icily. "If I might ask, could you perhaps not wait for these boys to catch the plague this time? It would be most appreciated."

Both of their smiles became a little strained. "Of course," Alistair said sheepishly.

With a bow, the man parted and made way for the next plaintiff.

During the interval, Rowena spun back to Alistair. "Explain, please!"

He grimaced. "At first, I thought it was innocuous—she kept touching my shoulder and patting me on the back. And then she ruffled my hair. While reaching for my arse."

Rowena jerked forward, fully intending to throttle Celene to death; however, Alistair quickly grabbed her wrist.

"Don't worry, I dealt with it," he said quickly.

She was not convinced—Alistair's method of "dealing with it" evidently involved much less blood than she would have liked.

"I know you don't like it," he said pleadingly, "but believe me, I don't either. She won't be doing that again anytime soon."

Rowena was still not satisfied.

"At least wait till later to kill her, please?" he asked, seeing her lack of conviction. "Less witnesses that way."

Reluctantly, Rowena saw his logic and eased herself back onto the throne, sulkily looking out to the next complainants.

An elf and what appeared to be his master stood before them, looking infuriated and bored respectively. The elf was dressed in rags and bore several serious-looking injuries; from the looks he was shooting at his master, Rowena guessed the nobleman was the cause of them.

"Thalion Seraht with a complaint against his master, Lord Helmsworth," the steward announced.

The elf bowed low before them. "Y-Your Majesties," he stammered nervously. "I am honored."

"Well met, good ser," Alistair said good-naturedly. "Why have you come here?"

The elf took a deep breath. "Because of this man—or should I say, monster!" he spat, pointing to his master.

"Ignore him, Your Majesties," Lord Helmsworth said lazily. "He is raving. He hit his head a week ago and has been spouting lunacies ever since."

"Your Majesties, please, I am not the mad one here," Thalion said quickly. "This man killed my sister!"

Eruestan frowned. "That is a very serious accusation," he said sternly. "Please, explain."

Thalion bowed once more. "Very well. My sister Mirana and I have been servants at His Lordship's estate since we were small children. Our parents died from the plague when she was ten and I was eight, and we really didn't have anywhere to go except for the orphanage. Our aunt managed to get us positions in the household-I worked in the kitchens, and she was a maid for Her Ladyship."

"And when did your trouble start?" Rowena asked curiously.

Thalion sighed. "Four years ago, Lady Helmsworth caught a wasting illness. She recovered, but she wasn't the same afterwards. At that point, His Lordship started staying away from the estate for long periods of time, almost to the point where he was home about one night a month."

"Well, that's probably not the _nicest _thing to do, but I don't think that really counts as being a mon—"

"Your Majesty, please, allow me to continue. As I was saying, His Lordship kept spending his nights elsewhere. In fact, he practically abandoned us during the Blight…"

"Infamous lies, Your Majesties, I—"

"Quiet," Alistair said sharply. "Go on, ser."

"Well, Sire, the family managed to outlast the Blight, and for a while it seemed like His Lordship had returned to us for good. I don't know if he felt guilty or what, but he was always home all of a sudden. Then, things started to go missing…"

The elf shifted, clearly uncomfortable. "They were small things, at first—cheap earrings, bottles of wine, things like that. The family never fully acknowledged that they were gone, I think. But then, last week, Her Ladyship's ruby necklace disappeared…Her Ladyship was furious. She was sure it had been stolen; naturally, she accused my sister, her chambermaid."

"But Mirana knew something the rest of us didn't. She had been emptying Her Ladyship's chamber pot in the courtyard the night before the 'theft' and had heard giggling coming from one of the side alleys. She looked over to see Lord Helmsworth placing his wife's necklace on some trashy woman from the streets, and then start to…_carry on_ , if you will, with her. Mirana was horrified—she retreated back into the house instantly and vowed to never tell anyone about what she had seen."

"However, the next day, Her Ladyship accused her of stealing the necklace. Rather than risk the two of us being thrown out on the streets, Mirana told Lady Helmsworth of everything she saw. The lady was infuriated—she threatened to divorce His Lordship and take back all her dowry. Somehow, His Lordship managed to calm her down and convince her to stay, but we all could tell that Her Ladyship had just about had enough."

"Mirana was terrified that her actions would come back to haunt her, but Lord Helmsworth actually seemed grateful for what she did." Here the elf spat and glowered at his master. "He told her that she had forced him to see the light, and that he couldn't be happier about his situation. He even gave her a sapphire ring for her dedication to the family. Mirana thought she was really in the clear…"

He looked up in anguish. "My sister's body was found at the bottom of a flight of stairs the next morning."

"An accident, I assure you," Lord Helmsworth said loudly. "The girl fell down the stairs—a tragedy, sure, but no man's fault."

"Didn't you say this man hit his head?" Alistair asked, raising an eyebrow. "Clumsiness runs in the family, apparently."

Lord Helmsworth sniffed. "It was not I who hired them, Your Majesty. Anyways, this young man does not have an iota of proof against me. His sister took an unfortunate tumble, that is all!"

Rowena looked at Thalion sympathetically. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said gently, "but I'm afraid Lord Helmsworth has a point. Unless you have some evidence, we can't—"

"Oh, but I do!" he said quickly. "Do you remember the sapphire ring I was talking about? Well, I know for a fact that Mirana was wearing it the night she died—she told me she'd never let it leave her finger, ever. Well, when they f-found" (his voice trembled a little) "h-her, _she wasn't wearing it_."

The nobleman yawned. "So someone stole a highly expensive piece of jewelry from her rotting corpse. That hardly has anything to do with _me_."

The elf stared at his master with a look of vengeful triumph. "Oh, really? Then why, when I was rummaging through your quarters this morning, did I find _this_ in your armoire?" He pulled something out of his pocket and ran up to place it in Rowena's hand. She looked at it curiously—it was a very pretty silver ring set with a giant blue sapphire.

Alistair cleared his throat and looked strangely at the nobleman, who had visibly paled. "How interesting," he said coldly.

Rowena opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off as someone began to clap from the wings. She slowly turned her head to see Celene stalk into the throne room.

"What a lovely performance," she sneered at the elf. "_Quelle histoire_. I myself am glad that you added this surprise twist—I myself was personally beginning to become a little bored."

"Celene, what in the name of Andraste are you doing?" Rowena asked stiffly, straightening up in her throne.

"Aiding your pathetic excuse for a justice system," she snapped. "You would believe this _elfe_ when it is obvious that he is lying! How do we know he did not just steal the ring from his sister's body? "

"Excellent point," Lord Helmsworth said quickly. "We don't know that, do we?"

"Which is why there will be a full investigation," Eruestan said severely. "I assure the both of you, magic will be employed to determine whether or not foul play was employed here. In the meantime, a full team of guards will be sent to your residence, Lord Helmsworth, to…maintain order, shall we say?"

"Of course _you_ would say that," Celene said sharply. "You are an _elfe_ as well!"

"How dare you talk to him like—"

"Eruestan has my full support in this, Empress Celene," Alistair said loudly, drowning out Rowena's outrage with a bit of his own. "I agree—this merits full investigation."

The empress looked scandalized. "How can this be? How can this servant, this _farfadet_, this _paysan_ have more say than his master?"

"Every man has a right to address the monarchs of Ferelden," Alistair said stiffly. "Regardless of rank or race. Please, guards, escort these men back to their estate."

"This is absolutely ridiculous!" Celene snapped as the last guardsman left. "No emperor of Orlais could hope to get away with this!"

"Well, Alistair isn't the emperor of Orlais, is he?" Rowena asked irritably.

Celene opened her mouth to reply, then stopped as if catching herself. A shrewd look creeping into her eye, she gave a full curtsy, and then breezed out of the throne room.

"What did _that_ look mean?" Alistair mumbled, a distinct aura of dislike creeping into his voice.

"I personally do not care," Rowena said hotly, nestling back into her throne. "I'm just waiting for the chance to challenge her to a duel."

"I'll allow that as long as I'm the second," he muttered.

She laughed and turned forward, smiling politely at the next plaintiff. "If only, if only…"


	6. Visiting the Market

Rowena fumed at Celene as the empress browsed through the wares at a silk-stand in the Denerim Market District.

It had been a week since the ill-fated Complaint's Court, and to her great dismay Rowena discovered that Celene had yet to spontaneously combust. Her groping incident had crossed a definite boundary, no matter how many times Wynne and Leliana tried to convince her that touching was encouraged in Orlais. Fortunately for Celene's sake, the empress seemed to realize that she had gone too far and appeared to be trying to make amends. It had been she who had suggested this visit to the marketplace so the two monarchs (along with a few select members of their entourages) could "connect." Rowena begrudgingly agreed, despite the fact that the most "connecting" she wanted to do with Celene was with a sword to the imperial small intestine.

However, here she was, standing in the shade with Leliana, Wynne, and two of the highest ranking ladies in Orlais.

"This country is always so cold," Lady Dantine said irritably, pulling her cloak tightly around herself. She was a tiny woman with pinched-in features—she also happened to be extremely wealthy. "In Orlais, the springtime is warm and accommodating—not like this icebox in Ferelden."

"And the smells!" Lady Lisolette said, eyes wide. "It smells horribly like wet dog—not like you, of course, my Frou-Frou," she said sweetly, burying her face in the little lap-dog she was carrying.

Rowena sighed. With her curly blonde hair and baby blue eyes, Lady Lisolette was as pretty as a porcelain doll—unfortunately, she was about as intelligent as one as well.

"Ferelden does fairly well for itself," she said coolly, gazing across the market at a sword merchant's stall. "I think we have much to offer that you can't find in Orlais."

"Evidently, so does Her Imperial Majesty," Lady Dantine murmured to Lisolette, who promptly began laughing so hard she had to bury her face in Frou-Frou's fur.

Rowena frowned—she _had _to be missing something. The day Lady Lisolette got a joke that she didn't was the day that she considered herself an utter failure. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said icily.

"Oh, I was just talking about Her Majesty's interest in Ferelden silks!" Lady Dantine said in a far-too-innocent tone. "Look how intrigued she is!"

Rowena raised an eyebrow—Celene was staring at the stall the way most people stared at Oghren. "The empress must be very good at hiding her desires," she said dryly.

"Oh, believe me, she is," Dantine said, eyes sparkling; Lisolette snorted and pushed her head so far into her dog Rowena was surprised it hadn't been crushed.

Leliana smiled sweetly. "Well, at least Her Imperial Majesty won't expose herself to ridicule that way," she said innocently. "When I was in Orlais, I remember there was a horrible incident involving a lady and a horse—very messy and very humiliating."

Lady Dantine blushed furiously and turned away, muttering something about a stable. Rowena smiled gratefully at Leliana, who gave her a sly glance back before returning to her conversation with Wynne.

Bored, Rowena began looking once more around the marketplace. Wade's Emporium, one of the finest armories in the country, seemed to call out to her…but, yet again, to buy some armor would be "unladylike", and Maker forbid should that happen.

Suddenly, someone coughed near her ear. "Perhaps this would be a good time to have a conversation with Celene," Wynne whispered. "Smooth over some rough patches?"

Rowena put on what she hoped was a pleading face. "Or maybe I could just stay here and imagine that Celene has to face down a Hurlock."

"Nice try. Now go."

With a groan, Rowena stepped out of the shade into the sunlight. All around her, people bowed respectfully; she smiled kindly and reluctantly walked up to Celene.

"Ah, there you are, Your Majesty," the empress said calmly. "I was just looking at these fine Fereldan wares."

"Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty," the merchant said graciously. "We are honored to—"

"Queen Rowena, what do you think of this silk?" Celene asked, rudely cutting the poor man off.

Rowena froze; fashion was not her strong point. "Erm…it's nice?"

"Eh, it is poorly woven and will be hard to work with," the empress said disdainfully. "However, it is a very pretty shade of violet…yes, I think I will buy it."

Celene turned to her servant boy, who reached inside his cloak and pulled out a large bag of money. He handed it to his mistress, who then faced the merchant once more.

All of a sudden, a young man dressed in white burst out of nowhere, knife bared. Fast as sin, he cut off a lock of Celene's hair, and then, almost as an afterthought, grabbed her purse as well. He then raced off towards the alleys of Denerim.

"_Gardes! Arretez cet home!"_ the empress shrieked. Rowena, however, was two steps ahead of her. Racing forward, she leapt onto a horse and began to gallop after the criminal.

The alleys in Denerim were dark and confusing—many times, Rowena thought she lost her target, only to see a flash of white turn a corner out of the corner of her eye. It soon became an elaborate game of high risk cat-and-mouse.

Then, suddenly it was over. Rowena rode out onto a straight lane with no side alleys; the thief was right in front of her. With a grim smile, she urged the horse forward, racing with break-neck speed at the hapless thief.

She furrowed her forehead, concentrating on her speed and timing. She knew that she had one shot at taking out this man—if her jumped was mistimed by a few seconds, her skirts meant that she wouldn't be able to catch up to him.

A few more seconds…she began to tense her legs…the young man looked up in horror, seeing his fate in her eyes…

With a WHAM!, someone collided into Rowena knocking her off the horse. She struggled to flip her assailant on his back—however, he was nimble, and she wasn't able to get a hold on him. He quickly leapt off her and slashed down with a dagger, slicing off a lock of her hair. He then sped off with his friend.

Rowena sat up in fury, rendered useless by a sea of silk. Suddenly, something sailed through the air and landed with a thud next to her hand. She picked it up curiously—it was Celene's money pouch, still full of sovereigns.

"What in the name of the Maker…?"

She heard footsteps running up behind her. Rising to her feet, she saw Wynne and Leliana lead a horde of guards that had surrounded themselves around the empress and her two friends.

"Did you catch that villain?" Lady Dantine shrieked, clutching her cloak about her as if afraid she was going to be attacked as well. "Will he but put behind bars?"

"Oh, get _over_ yourself! No one cares enough about you to have you assassinated!" Wynne snapped, rushing forward protectively towards Rowena. She gave her a very concerned glance. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Rowena said, still a little frustrated. "The only thing they damaged was my pride."

"Did they cut a lock of your hair?" Leliana asked sharply, looking observantly at her bangs. "Those bastards—I spent a lot of time getting it to look just right this morning!" She then gasped. "Oh, Rowena, look at your hand!"

Rowena looked down. To her dismay, an ugly purple bruise was already beginning to form.

"Lovely," she muttered disgustedly.

Wynne tsked and began to cast a minor healing spell; as she did so, Celene coughed and said, "So, did you or did you not manage to capture this _sc__élérat_?"

"Yes," Rowena said irritably, pulling her hand away from the magical aura. "I captured the thief, and then turned him invisible. He's now standing right behind you and is planning on giving you an Antivan massage."

"There is no need for sarcasm," the empress said coolly. "I see you have my _porte-monnaie_. Unless you are planning on taking it for yourself, I suggest you release it back into my custody."

Rowena stared at her in fury. "I assure you, Celene, if I ever need money from you, you'll be the first to know." With as much contempt as she could muster, she tossed the full sack back to the empress, who caught it with distaste. With a few murmured words, Celene haughtily motioned for her entourage to leave.

Hidden in the shadows in the distance, the thin, sallow man watched with satisfaction as the queen stood stiff with fury, watching the Imperial train leave for the palace. Beside him, the two young men placed the two locks of hair in his hand—one brown, one red.

He smiled. Everything was just the way he planned.


	7. No, no, Really, Tell Me You're Kidding

_Dear Fergus (and Heinrich, of course!),_

_ How are you doing? I hope you managed to fix the windows in the entrance hall—can you imagine what Mother would have said if she had seen that? "What on…Oh, no, not the windows! Who did this? THESE WERE FROM ORLAIS!"_

_ Speaking of Orlais, let me just tell you, you are both really lucky to be at Highever, because Celene is a total bi—_

"Be careful of what you put down," Wynne said suddenly; Rowena jolted and looked up to see her reading over her shoulder. "Angry letters have a nasty habit of biting us in the arse when we least expect it."

"But in all fairness, Celene and Rowena already know that they hate each other," Alistair said from his chair next to the desk. "It's not like it'd be a huge scandal if someone else read this."

Wynne gave a faint chuckle. "Oh, believe me, this is the sort of naïveté that starts a war. Leliana, here, tell me what you think."

The bard set her book down and began to read Rowena's letter. With a gasp, she snatched it off the desk and threw the page into the fire.

"_Hey!_" Rowena cried indignantly. "There's such a thing as editing, you know!"

"Don't be silly!" Leliana said, eyes wide. "I've _killed_ people for saying less than that!"

"Oh, please," Rowena scoffed. "No one's going to kill me."

"Funny. That's what most of my targets said too," Leliana said breezily. "Didn't end the way they planned, unfortunately."

"No one's going to kill Rowena," Alistair said quietly. "I can make sure of _that_, at least." She smiled and gently grasped his hand.

Suddenly, the doors to the study burst open and Eruestan stalked in carrying a small bundle of papers.

"I think someone's going to try and kill you two," he said seriously.

Alistair's face fell. "Well, that's…reassuring."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, this someone happens to be Guillame du Jader?"

"Well, yes," the elf admitted, blushing a little. "But I swear, I've got proof!" He quickly spread his papers on Rowena's desk. "See, I've been having him followed for a while, and…"

"You've been _what_?" Alistair and Rowena both said, staring at him.

"Having him followed…?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"

"You can have people _followed_?"

"Er…yes," Eruestan said slowly. "It's kinda in the job description…"

"Really, you two, what do you think a chancellor does?" Wynne asked wearily. "Eruestan has to make sure that he can intercept any threat to the both of you from wherever it may come. Of course he's going to have a team of spies."

"There's more than _one_?"

Wynne's smile became a little strained. "Oh, this is frightening."

"_Anyways_," Eruestan said loudly, picking up a sheet of parchment, "based off of what my men have found, the little weasel has been acting mighty suspicious lately. For example…_April 22: Suspect holds meeting with three unknowns in an alley-way, all of whom disappear afterwards…April 24: Suspect seen outside the Pearl…_"

"Oh, gross!"

Eruestan shot a stern look at his friends as he loudly continued, "…_where he met with persons unknown. Suspect received a large bottle of a mysterious liquid. Suspect did NOT enter the establishment;_" (two sighs of relief) "_instead left for the palace._"

The elf then pulled out a chart from the middle of the stack. "These are the dock records from last Thursday; apparently, a very large shipment from Antiva was registered under a 'Ser William from Montsimmard.'"

"Clever," Leliana said, smiling appreciatively. "'Guillame du Jader', 'William from Montsimmard'; if we hadn't been looking, it would've slipped right past us."

"Did they manage to find out what came in?" Wynne asked sharply.

He shook his head. "When they went to look, the boats were empty. Word obviously must have gotten out somehow. But there's more." He picked up the last of the papers. "These were stolen off of one of his couriers last night." He handed them to Alistair and Rowena. One was a map of the ground floor of the palace with several X's marked at certain entrances. The other was a letter written in a strange language.

"What's this written in?" Rowena asked, frowning. "It's not Orlesian or Anders."

"Or Tevinter," Alistair added.

"Look at the seal," Eruestan said quietly.

They both gasped. "The Crows!" Rowena said, looking up excitedly.

He nodded. "The Crows use a special written language that's almost impossible to decipher—we've been trying, but I doubt we'll make any headway with it. However, just the fact that the Crows are involved at all makes me a little uneasy."

"Well, let's not panic," Rowena said calmly. An eager glint lit up in her eyes. "After all, maybe he's targeting Celene!"

"Why would he wait till now to do it, then?" Eruestan asked. "He'd have a lot more opportunities back in Orlais."

She sighed. "A girl can dream, can't she?"

"This is not good," Wynne said worriedly. "This is _really _not good. The two of you are going to have to be very careful from now on."

"Don't you think we're all overreacting just a little here?" Alistair asked, eyebrow raised. "I mean, we don't even know if this has anything to do with us at all."

"Still, if the Crows are involved…" Leliana shivered. "I have heard terrible stories of some of their exploits. Once, they put the eggs of flesh-eating insects inside a man's dinner rolls. A week later, he went to bed complaining of a stomach-ache and was later found dead, with holes eaten through his skin."

"That's disgusting," Alistair said, turning a slight shade of green.

"That's just the beginning," Leliana said seriously. "The Crows are like shadows—even the bards fear them. One of their master assassins can almost do the impossible. Beautiful gowns seeped in deadly poison…knives that seemingly fly at you from nowhere…people found killed in rooms where all the doors and windows lock from the inside…I wouldn't take this too lightly."

Rowena shivered, suddenly cold. "B-but those are just legends, right?"

Leliana shrugged. "Who knows? Legends all have a basis in fact, don't they?"

Suddenly, the doors to the study flew open. With a yelp, everyone in the room leapt into fighting positions, tensed for action.

Empress Celene stood in the doorway, a blatant look of shock creeping across her face.

Behind her, Lady Dantine shrieked loudly. "THEY ARE MURDERING US! THEY ARE MURDERING THE EMPRESS!"

"Don't get my hopes up," Rowena muttered.

"Dantine, _tais-toi_," Celene said sharply. "It is obvious that they did not realize who was at the door. Otherwise, the king would have been more…gentlemanly." Alistair blushed and dropped his fists.

"Empress, Your Ladyship," Rowena said with a strained smile. There was a small bark from the hallway. "_And_ Lady Lisolette. To what do we owe this…pleasure…?"

"I come to invite Your Majesties to a ball," Celene said smoothly.

The two of them froze. "A…w-what?" Alistair asked, horrified.

She frowned. "That is how you say it, yes? A ball?"

"Yes, you are right, Imperial Majesty," Eruestan said quickly. "They're just…speechless with joy, that's all."

"Yes," Rowena said hopelessly. "So full of joy."

"What's the occasion?" Wynne asked.

Celene bowed her head. "I feel such pain at having intruded for so long upon the hospitality of Ferelden," she said sadly. "Especially when one considers the awful history between our two nations. This is my way of showing both Orlais's thanks and friendship."

"That's so kind of you," Rowena lied. "But, surely you want to get to Antiva as soon as possible? You shouldn't delay yourself just—"

"Antiva can wait," Celene said calmly. "I would much rather do this for you. Oh, and before I forget, Queen Rowena, I would like to give you a gift." She motioned to her servant, who stepped forward and presented a heavy purple gown. "I hope you shall wear this on Friday."

"F-Friday? So soon?" Rowena asked meekly.

"Oh, yes. One must not wait too long for the things one wants, you know. Now, forgive me, but I believe a shipment of decorations is coming in." With a bow, she and her party left the room.

"Well, the fabric's nice," Leliana said dubiously, running her hand along the dress. "But the neckline is too high—you won't be able to show off your features. Also, look how heavy the sleeves are! And that hem is far too—"

"You can tailor it if you like, Leli," Rowena sighed.

She squealed excitedly and dragged Rowena to her feet. "Oh, thank you! You'll be absolutely gorgeous, I promise! Oh, and I know just how it's going to look like too! Oh, there's so much to do! We need to do your hair, and paint your nails, and find some jewelry…" She looked up impatiently. "Oh, why are you just sitting there? Come on!" She grabbed her by the wrist and started to drag her away.

"Help. Me." Rowena called.

"Trust me, I know by now not to get in her way," Eruestan said seriously. "Good luck!"

"Oh, don't listen to him," Leliana scoffed. "You know, I think I saw the _perfect_ pair of shoes for you—velvet, with little ribbons flounced on the heels. Yes, I know you'll love them! Oh, isn't this fun?"

"Loads," Rowena said miserably.

What in the name of the Maker had she done to deserve this?

_Hi! Just wanted to let you know that I'll be in Florida for the next week and a half, so there's going to be a bit of a dry spell. I'll be back ASAP, but don't hate me if it takes a few weeks for an update! _

_Everyone on here ROCKS—I'm really enjoying all the feedback! See you soon!_

_(Review, if you'd like! Constructive criticism welcome!)_


	8. Let the Battle Begin

"I hate balls," Rowena said miserably.

"Join the club," Alistair muttered beside her.

The two of them sulkily stood up on two stools as Leliana added the final touches to their party outfits. It was a half-hour before the ball, and a familiar feeling of nausea and panic was building up inside Rowena's stomach.

"I hope we're not supposed to be surprised by this information," Wynne said from her seat. "By now, we're used to all this. I seem to remember you saying that you hate ceremonies, that you hate royal visits, that you hate going on progress…"

"But a ball is worse than all of those combined!" Rowena whined. "All the dancing, and the people, and the really loud music…"

"So basically everything that everyone else loves about a ball," Leliana quipped as she straightened Rowena's hem for the fourth time.

"Exactly," Alistair said, grimacing. "Maker's breath, Leliana, this thing is hot!"

"It's also Antivan and extremely expensive," she said, now rubbing a bit of dirt off his boots. "And Rowena, touch that tiara one more time and I'll make sure that handsy Anders emissary you were telling me about stays by your side the whole night."

"But it's _itchy_!" Rowena cried, throwing her hands down hopelessly.

"And it took two hours to fit into your hair," Leliana said firmly. "I'm not going to let you ruin a perfectly beautiful outfit just because you're uncomfortable."

"Way to prioritize there."

"You'll thank me when everyone tells you how amazing you look," Leliana said smugly. "Because trust me, you look amazing. Doesn't she look amazing?"

"You do look amazing," Alistair said gently. "Not that you don't normally, but still…"

Rowena rolled her eyes, but then smiled in spite of herself. She had to hand it to Leliana; she sure could work miracles with clothes. The gown/tent that Celene had given her was now very elegant and airy—just what she needed to get through the long, hot night.

"All the same, this is ridiculous," Alistair grumbled, kicking vaguely at his stool. "Why doesn't Eruestan have to do this? He's just as important as we are."

"Yeah, how come?" Rowena said indignantly. "Where _is_ he, even?"

"Eruestan is reviewing our guards for Celene at the moment," Leliana said. "And for your information, he _did_ have to go through this, and I must say that he looks absolutely terrific." She stood up. "There. Perfect."

"Reviewing the guards?" Rowena asked curiously, hopping down from the stool. "What for?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really," Wynne said, standing up as well. "It's just that Celene leaves in a few days and we want to send her off with a strong escort."

"Well, we could just hire the Crows to do that for us, seeing as apparently they're everywhere," Rowena muttered as they walked out of the doors; the large team of guards that had been waiting outside instantly surrounded them.

"You can't blame Eruestan for wanting to be more cautious," Wynne said, smiling faintly. "From what Leliana's told us, it's wise to—"

"Ooh, no, let's not," Leliana said, shivering. "Tonight's supposed to be fun, remember? No more Crows talk."

The group fell silent, the sounds of the guards' boots echoing along the dark corridors. Soon, though, the faint sounds of music and people chatting began to waft through the air as they approached the grand ballroom. Eruestan stood waiting for them outside the doors, dressed in a fine grey silk tunic.

"There you are," he said, relieved. "I was worried that something might have happened."

"Oh, you're so cute when you're worried," Leliana said, grabbing his hand affectionately. "Don't worry, we were fine."

"Yes. What a surprise," Alistair said sarcastically.

"I know," Rowena said, eyes widening. "I thought we were going to get attacked as soon as we walked out the door!"

"Shocking, isn't it?" Alistair said, sadly shaking his head. "Seems like the Crows are losing their touch."

"Really, we should report them to their superiors."

"Well, I'm glad you all can take threats to your lives in stride," Eruestan said, a little irritated. "Just don't come crying to me when you wake up with daggers at your throats."

"Personally, I'd rather fight ten assassins than go through this," Alistair said. "Hey, why don't we pretend to be sick?"

"Yeah! You know, plague season is starting soon, and—"

"NO," Wynne, Leliana, and Eruestan said loudly.

"I'm sorry, but politically, this is too important for the two of you to just blow off," Eruestan said firmly.

"Besides, I did not just spend three days making sure you look your best just to have you cancel at the last minute," Leliana said just as determinedly.

"Fine, fine," Rowena mumbled. "Maker, not even the King and Queen can joke around here anymore."

Eruestan sighed. "I'm sorry. Once Celene leaves, we can all go back to normal."

Suddenly, trumpets blared on the other side of the doors, cutting everyone off.

"I think they're ready for us," Wynne said, straightening her shoulders.

Alistair smiled half-heartedly. "Sure you're not sick?"

"I think it's safer not to be," Rowena murmured, warily eyeing her friends. "You ready?"

He shrugged. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

They both turned back to the doors. "Let's do this," Rowena whispered.

The doors parted, and the ball began.

The first impression Rowena had was lots and lots of color. The ballroom, which normally was a pretty bland combination of grey, brown, and then a little more grey, now shimmered with bright yellow banners, blue ribbons, red streamers…she got the vague impression that she was walking through one of Leliana's daydreams. Hundreds of nobles filled the room, all respectfully to either side of the chamber, heads bowed. A troupe of Nevarran musicians stood at the far end of the room, instruments held in place ready to play at a moment's notice.

As they walked through the sea of nobles, Rowena was surprised to notice that Celene hadn't arrived yet. Not that she was complaining, of course, but still, it was her party. Besides, the sooner the empress arrived, the sooner everyone could leave for the night.

Finally, the group arrived at the dais specially built for them at the end of the room. As they sat down, the musicians swiftly resumed playing, and the nobles began to mill around once more.

"Oh, this is nice," Leliana sighed, resting on a cushion beside Rowena's throne. "Isn't this nice?"

"I guess it is better than I expected," Rowena admitted, "but then I—ugh, one minute."

A large, curly-haired man had approached them from the crowd and bowed before Rowena and Alistair. "Your Majesties," he said in a thick Anders accent. "De barons of de Anderfels send dere regards vonce more."

Rowena smiled wanly. "_Vielen Dank, Herr Mikael. Die Barone der Anderfels sind, wie immer, herzlich willkommen in unserem Palast. Bitte, genie__ß__en Sie heute Abend._"

The man bowed once more and merged back with the crowd.

Rowena laughed in disbelief. "Impossible. Normally he spends the whole night by my side, like some sort of overgrown, gropy mabari!"

"See, this isn't so bad after all, is it?" Leliana whispered teasingly. "In fact, I think things are going pretty well."

"The night's barely even started," Rowena said darkly. "I'm still waiting for Celene to announce that she's staying with us till Satinalia."

"I wonder where she is," Leliana said, curious. "The dancing can't start without her."

"Hopefully at the bottom of a crevasse, then."

"You know, that negative attitude is going to backfire on you someday," Leliana said, annoyed. "I mean, you don't want to end up like Morrig—"

Rowena looked up to see Leliana staring in horror at the doors leading to the ballroom as the Imperial Fanfare began to play. She swiveled around and froze in shock.

"Sweet Maker," she breathed.

The Empress had arrived. And she was naked.


	9. The Ball

Well, practically.

Celene was wearing a bright red outfit that Rowena recognized as a tantric dancing gown from Rivain. Her midriff was completely bare, as were her shoulders, back, and arms. A long slit ran up the length of her "skirt", revealing finely toned legs, among other things... In short, she looked exactly like something out of an adolescent boy's deepest fantasies.

Leliana's jaw dropped. "Wha…What the…She looks like a…"

"I know," Rowena said disbelievingly. All throughout the room, eyes fixated on the empress, unable to believe what they were seeing. Celene, clearly enjoying the attention, seemed to be taking her time walking through the crowd. An infatuated nobleman's mouth quickly dropped open, and he began gaping at Her Majesty; however, his infuriated wife quickly snapped him out of his passions. With a death glare at the empress, the noble lady dragged her husband back into the crowd.

Rowena was disappointed—she had been hoping for a bit of hair-pulling at least.

Beside her, Alistair turned to her, eyes wide. "Sweet Maker,' he said in horror. "Does she even know where she is?"

"How disrespectful," Wynne said in distaste. "It's a good thing you tailored that gown, Leliana—otherwise, Rowena'd—"

Leliana gasped, cutting her off. "That explains it!" she hissed angrily. "She gave you that dress on purpose so you'd look like a bronto while she's being all seductive!"

Rowena swore loudly.

"_Charmant_," Celene said coolly as she approached the dais all of a sudden. "Tell me, Queen Rowena, do you always show such appreciation to someone who has thrown a magnificent ball such as this?" Before Rowena could answer, Celene looked closely at her, sniffed, and said, "Well, never mind that. It seems that you do not care for my opinion in any case."

_It's taken you this long to realize that? _Rowena thought dully. However, for appearance's sake she cleared her throat and said, "I'm sure if I don't know what you're talking about."

Celene's eyes narrowed. "My gown, Queen Rowena. You have modified the gown that I so generously gave you. I did not comprehend that Imperial taste was held in such little regard in Fereldan."

"On the contrary, Your Imperial Majesty, Her Royal Majesty loved your gown very much," Leliana said calmly, coming to the rescue. "However, I managed to convince her that there was too much material for tonight, with all the heat, of course. It's all my fault. But, it's for the best—these parties can get very overheated—you absolutely have to wear something light."

"As I see you've noticed, Empress," Alistair said, still bug-eyed.

"Oh, yes, King Alistair, do you like my gown?" Celene asked delightedly, doing a quick pirouette to show off the "back" of the "dress". "It is straight from the streets of Llomerynn, in Rivain—you know, the City of Sin?" Here she winked wickedly, causing Alistair to blush bright red and mumble something about spoiled Rivaini food.

"But what are we doing?" Celene said abruptly, standing back. "We are at a ball, are we not? One does not talk at a ball! Come, shall we not have some music!" She waved hurriedly at the musicians, who quickly started up a lively Remigold.

"Shall we, my king?" Rowena murmured slyly; with a grin, Alistair moved to take hold of her hand. Suddenly, however, someone coughed quite loudly from below the dais.

"King Alistair," the empress said, looking at him a little tensely, "surely you do not wish for me to be without a partner."

The two of them froze. "B-but…I-I…" Alistair stammered, caught off guard.

She raised an eyebrow. "The dance shall start any minute, my King."

Alistair looked back confusedly at Rowena, who felt a familiar mute rage blossom inside her. She opened her mouth to snap at Celene—however, she felt someone tug gently on her arm and turned around to see Eruestan, Leliana, and Wynne all glaring at her, telepathically telling her to back down. Stunned, Rowena slowly turned away from Alistair and sat down on her throne. Reluctantly, Alistair stepped down, grabbed a beaming Celene's hand, and assumed the starting position. Then the music intensified, and the two twirled away, leaving Rowena stewing behind.

While the nobles danced overheard, a young boy slipped through the kitchens towards a giant vat of soup bubbling over one of the many fires. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he pulled a small vial of clear liquid and quickly dumped its contents into the cauldron. With a smirk, the boy ducked back in the crowd, his deed unnoticed in the chaos.

Meanwhile, Rowena was so angry she was shaking.

"I'll kill her," she swore blackly. "I don't know when, and I don't know how, but I will kill her."

"Stop saying that," Eruestan hissed. "You know as well as I do that we can't afford to go to war with Orlais!"

"I don't _care_ anymore, Eruestan!" Rowena snapped. "If she does something like this again, I _will_ take her out, mark my words."

"Oh, don't let her egg you on like this," Wynne said wisely over a large burst of applause—the song had ended. "She just wants to show off a bit, that's all. No sense in blowing things out of proportion."

Suddenly, as the last bits of applause faded away, Celene raised her head cheerfully and cried, "But do not stop now! Gentlemen, a habanera, please!"

Rowena sat straight up in her throne. Habaneras were extremely sensuous dances from Antiva, full of gyrations, grinds, dips, and bends—Rowena believed a common phrase for them was "walking sex". Surely not even Celene would have so little tact as to do _that_ right in front of Rowena?

Alas, Rowena was wrong—instead of stepping aside and letting Rowena take over, Celene began to perform a very seductive belly-dance, jiggling and twirling in front of a VERY uncomfortable Alistair.

Rowena spun around to Leliana. "By the Maker, where IS my swo—" However, she stopped as she realized that both Leliana and Eruestan were staring longingly at the dance floor.

"I-I'm sorry, what?" Leliana asked, shaking her head.

Rowena scowled, mood blackening even further. "Nothing. Go and dance."

"YAY!" Leli leapt to her feet and grabbed Eruestan, who managed to give Rowena a grateful smile before he was dragged onto the dance floor.

Still desperately needing to vent, Rowena turned to Wynne to see her frowning at a group of teenage nobles hanging out in the corner.

"One moment, dear," Wynne said, raising a hand and effectively hushing Rowena. "Those hooligans are doing something highly inappropriate to the statue of King Brandel! I'll be right back." With that, she briskly walked off to their direction, a very stern look etched on her face.

Annoyed with being the only person left on the dais, Rowena turned back to look at the dance floor, and immediately wished she hadn't. The song had reached a particularly slow segment, giving Celene the opportunity to twist and writhe all over Alistair, who responded with quite a few twitches and uncomfortable squirms. Rowena gripped the arm of her throne so tightly she began to lose circulation in her fingers, her fury causing her to tremble slightly. Then, all of a sudden someone came up behind her, bending towards her ear.

"Your Majesty," Guillame du Jader whispered sweetly, "you look upset. Here, have a drink—it'll do wonders for your nerves, I'm sure."

If Rowena hadn't been so infuriated at that moment, or if she hadn't been trying to keep her eyes on the dance floor, she might have seen du Jader silently spill several drops of a mysterious liquid into the cup. At the very least, she might have remembered Eruestan's warnings about the man and immediately became suspicious. Unfortunately, her anger was so great that it blinded her to the danger around her, and without a second's thought she seized the goblet and drained its contents in an instant.

As the queen drank, the palace guards meant to watch over Celene merrily doled out bowls of soup to each other down in their quarters below. It was an exciting night for them—in a few days time they would be leaving the palace on their ways to Antiva. And so they ate generously, gorging themselves. No one could taste the poison mixed into the meal—The Crows have standards to live up to, after all.

Alistair had never been so glad to hear a song end in his life.

As the last strands of music faded away, Celene whirled away coyly and said, "Well, that was fun, was it not?"

Alistair smiled weakly. Maker, what he wouldn't do to be able to sit back down now!

_Maybe I can do that telepathy thing Eruestan read about,_ he thought wildly. _DANCING IS BAD. SITTING DOWN IS GOOD. _

Unfortunately, Celene didn't seem to be able to read minds, as she instantly called out, "A fandango!"

With an inward groan, Alistair assumed the starting position for the fast Nevarran dance, wishing all the while he was back on his throne cracking jokes with Rowena. As per tradition, the nobles in the room circled around the two of them, letting the highest ranked couple start out the dance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eruestan and Leliana give him sympathetic smiles—his attempt at smiling back came out as more of a grimace.

"King Alistair," Celene said through clenched teeth, "I am down here."

"Huh? Oh! Right, right, sorry!" He quickly stared back down at down at her and smiled weakly as they began to dance. "My thoughts were…elsewhere…" _Boy, was that an understatement._

"Ah," Celene said with a sniff. "You were thinking about your wife."

"No, actually I was thinking about the Arl of Denerim," he said sarcastically. Then, upon seeing her confused face, "Er, that was a joke. You were right the first time."

Celene sniffed again, as if joking was something very crass and Fereldan-ish to do. "Hm. Well, let me frank with you, my dear king—I find your wife to be a bit…_bizarre_."

Alistair smiled fondly. "Yep, that's Rowena for you."

"It was not a complement," she said coldly, spinning under his arm. She smiled empathetically at him. "I do pity you."

He frowned. "I don't follow."

"Well, it is just so inconvenient!" she said, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. "To be weighed down with such a marriage, just because your wife is of high noble blood! What a nightmare!"

Alistair did not come to Rowena's immediate defense, mainly because he was too stunned to say anything.

"You know," Celene continued casually, "I was in such a situation myself once. The solution is quite simple—there are plenty of good assassins about that are very good at making murders look like accidents."

With that, Alistair stopped dead. "Rowena and I are very happy," he said quietly, a flame of fury lighting up behind his eyes.

Celene sighed. "Of course you are," she said sympathetically. "But you know, accidents do happen…and that's really what I wanted to talk to you about—"

"Oh, just shut u—" Alistair started to say, but suddenly a loud gasp from the crowd cut him off. Whirling around, he saw Rowena staggering through the nobles, blasting people to either side of her.

"There yeh are," she slurred. "Mind if I cut in?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow and leaned in to her. "Are you drunk?" he whispered confusedly.

"I don't know," she giggled, and then burped loudly—the sound ripped through the dance music and brought the players to a halt.

"How quaint," Celene said disgustedly. "Not that I expected any more, of course."

Rowena squinted at her as if trying to look through a sunburst. "Well, I've been expectin' yeh ter shut up this whole visit, and yeh haven't," she said, a slight Highever brogue breaking through her normally polished voice. "So I guess we're all a lil' disappoin'ed, ain't we?"

Celene stared at her in horror. "I beg your pardon?"

Rowena grinned nastily. "Oh, wha', the language too hard for yeh? How's this: BITCH, SHUT UP!"

Shocked whispers rippled through the nobles as Wynne and Leliana tried to break their way through to help. Alistair, however, was unsure of whether he should be mortified or highly amused.

"Rowena," Wynne said, smiling stiffly, "what in the name of Andraste are you doing?"

"Come on, let's leave," Leliana said quickly, grabbing Rowena's wrist.

"Oh, get ou' 'a here!" Rowena moaned, breaking free of Leliana's grasp. "The both 'a yeh! I'm sick an' tired 'a hearin' yeh gripe an' complain!" She darted to Alistair's side and put an arm around his waist. "I'll be dancin' with me husban' if yeh need me!"

"Oh, no no no," Celene said furiously, snapping out of her state of shock. "I am the one dancing with the king!" She jolted forward and snatched Rowena's wrist.

Big mistake.

With a snarl, Rowena snapped around and punched Celene in the eye. With a shriek of pain, the empress leapt back, clutching her head. Instantly, the entire Orlesian entourage seemed to converge upon Her Imperial Majesty and sweep her away as the collected Fereldan nobles screamed in dismay. Alistair, again torn between horror and laughter, turned to Rowena to see her swaying slightly on her feet, a very odd expression on her face.

"What is going on with you?" he asked in amazement.

She looked at him curiously, suddenly clutching her head. "I think might be dyin'," she said wondrously. Then she swooned and fell to the floor.

Acting as if in slow motion, Alistair slid on his knees and caught her before she hit the ground. Extremely alarmed, he searched her face in a panic, trying to tell what was going on.

She looked up at him and smiled sleepily. "Pretty Alistair," she said dazedly, a blissful expression crossing her face. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out for real.

"I NEED A MAGE!" Alistair bellowed, frantically scanning the crowd. As if on cue, both Eruestan and Wynne appeared at his side, arms outstretched as they examined her with their spellwork.

"What is it? What's wrong with her?" Alistair asked frantically when they didn't say anything. "Tell me!"

"Calm down, she's fine," Eruestan said quickly, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "It seems like she's just in a very deep sleep. She probably just had too much to drink, that's all."

"He's right," Wynne said soothingly. "You know that Highever accent always comes through when she's drunk. She'll be all better in the morning—well, relatively. I certainly won't want to have the headache she'll get tomorrow."

Slightly mollified, Alistair rose to his feet and looked sternly at the collected nobles, who were staring with fascinated horror at the scene. "Party's over," he barked. "Everyone out!"

There was a cry of protest; however, Leliana was instantly by his side with aide. "Hey! You heard His Majesty! Get out of here! Nothing to see!" For a rather small girl, Leliana could be mildly frightening when she wanted something done. Begrudgingly, the nobles began to clear out of the room, all muttering to each other under their breaths.

Alistair looked concernedly back at Rowena, who didn't seem to be responding to the rejuvenation spells Wynne was casting. Suddenly, someone tapped on his shoulder.

"Your Majesty," Guillame du Jader said softly, "what a shame that such a night had to be ruined."

Alistair scowled—he really didn't want to see anyone associated with Celene at the moment. "What do you want from me, ser?" he asked coldly.

Du Jader smiled. "My King, the queen is fine. You mustn't worry! Here, you should drink something—take this." He dangled a rather full goblet under Alistair's nose.

"B-but…Rowena…"

"My men will return the queen to her bedchambers, mark my words," the man said smoothly. "Now please, drink."

Something inside Alistair snapped. "Oh, get the hell out of here!" he said angrily, brushing him aside. With one last contemptuous look at the shocked Orlesian, Alistair stooped down and picked up Rowena in his arms, unwilling to trust his love (especially in a state like this) to any other man.

Meanwhile, in the guard post, the last of Celene's guards fell to the ground, clutching his throat. Around him, the still-twitching corpses of his comrades littered the floor, faces contorted in expressions of terrible pain. He fell to the ground with a thud, eyes rolled to the heavens, and suddenly he went limp, hand falling from his neck.

As he fell to the dust, ten shadows seemed to move from all throughout the room—from the corners, under the bunks, behind the chests, and many more. As these "shadows" began to don the armor of the now-dead guards, Guillame du Jader silently marched through the door, a look of triumph on his face. If things went as planned (as he knew they would), tonight would be a glorious night indeed.

_Personal note: this chapter was supposed to be published on the same day as Chapter 8 in order to make the transition smoother. However, I was ripped away from the computer most cruelly before I could upload. Sorry for the inconvenience—I'd hate for you to think that I was resorting to such sensational measures as making the characters strip just for kicks!_

_Again, much thanks to all the completely awesome people who've subscribed/favorited/story alerted/reviewed. You guys are all AMAZING!_

_Please, please, please review! _


	10. Revealed Intentions

_Rowena was on a boat in the middle of a vast sea. A large fog rolled around her. Standing up, she tried to peer through it to catch a glimpse of land._

_"Weird," she said, puzzled._

_She sat back down, and all of a sudden she noticed a cute baby goat sitting next to her. _

_"Oh, are you just the most adorable thing ever!" she cooed, leaning in to pet it._

_The goat jerked its head up at her. "You ain't the boss of me!" it snapped. It then lunged up to bite her face off._

With a gasp, Rowena jolted out of her dream, panting heavily. Beside her, Alistair chuckled wearily from the chair he was sitting in.

"Thank the Maker you're up," he said with a yawn. "I was almost ready to fall asleep myself. The goats again?"

She nodded grimly. "I'm afraid I really don't understand the Fade," she said sadly. She groggily squinted around the dark room, shaking her head vigorously to try and clear the air. "Andraste's Grace, what happened? I feel like a broodmother just sat on me!"

"Oh, believe me, I think you enjoyed yourself far more than that," Alistair said, grinning wickedly. "So what was it? Dwarven ale?"

She stared at him. "What?"

"Well, that's what we figured, seeing as we only left you alone for, say, about _ten _minutes," he said mischievously. "Thanks for sharing, by the way—I could have used some tonight, too."

"What the—I wasn't drunk, was I?" Rowena asked incredulously.

"You were definitely something," Alistair laughed, stepping over and sitting down on the mattress. "Your accent came out and everything."

Rowena groaned and fell back on her pillow, mortified. "My _accent_?" she whispered fearfully. "Oh, Sweet Maker, I must have made a fool of myself!"

"Don't worry, no one was concerned with your accent," he said, an evil smile spreading across his face. "Definitely not after you punched out Celene, that is."

"I punched out Celene?" Rowena asked brightly, shooting back up to a seated position. "That totally just made everything worth it! Did I break anything?"

"Other than thirty years of peace between Ferelden and Orlais?"

She rolled her eyes. "I was hoping for maybe her nose..."

"Yes, well, sadly, you aimed for the eye," he said, chuckling even harder. "The look on her face…priceless…"

Rowena sighed happily and gently nestled her head on Alistair's shoulder. "Has anyone ever told you how wonderful you are?" she murmured sleepily.

"I think someone did, once," he said softly. "Maybe you know her? Red-hair, insanely beautiful, funny, and smart?"

"She sounds like a real keeper, whoever she is, Your Majesty," Rowena whispered, smiling. "She must love you very much."

"Not nearly as much as I do her, my lady," he said tenderly. They gently kissed each other, cherishing the moment.

Then, suddenly, down the hall there came the clash of metal on metal. The two of them instantly broke apart and dove for their weapons. Then, just as quickly as they started, the noises ceased, giving way to a pair of muted footsteps. The clacks of the heels on the stone seemed to echo ominously down the hall, slicing through the night like a force of nature.

"Oh no," Rowena said hopelessly, loosening her grip on her sword.

"It can't be," Alistair said, wide-eyed.

Oh yes, it could.

Celene burst through their chamber doors, a brilliant black eye disfiguring her face. Behind her, Guillame du Jader hovered respectfully like a morose hummingbird, his eyes downcast.

"King Alistair," Celene began; however, she glanced over to the other side of the room and gasped in horror. "YOU? What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what am _I_ doing here?" Rowena snapped, irritable at the looks she was getting—Celene was staring at her as if she had half her hair missing, while her advisor was looking at her in shock and alarm, like she'd appeared out of nowhere and started pulling flowers out her arse. "This is my bedroom, isn't it?"

"But it is not!" Celene said shrilly. "This is the **King**'s Bedchamber!"

"No, this is the _Royal_ Bedchamber," Rowena said harshly. "We share a room."

Celene didn't seem to be able to process this. "You…_share_ a room? Bu—no king shares a room with his wife! He comes in at the night, performs his Maker-given duty, and then leaves for his own chamber and mistress!"

"And that's pretty much what happens here, minus the me leaving part," Alistair said. "Or the mistresses."

She stared at him. "What sort of backwards dung-heap is this country?"

"What do you want, Celene?" Alistair sighed.

The empress straightened her shoulders, evidently trying to steel herself for what she was about to say. "I must admit, I was hoping for a more _private_ audience…I assume, Queen Rowena, that you are not intending to leave?"

"You could say that," Rowena said coldly.

Celene sighed. "Then there is no way around it. Your Majesty, I have come to make a proposal."

"Er...okay...a proposal…of what? Trade?" Alistair asked confusedly.

"_Non._ I come promote a proposal of marriage," the empress said calmly.

He frowned. "Between who? There aren't many single nobles of marrying age at court…"

"Not between two of our courtiers, my King," Celene said, flushing embarrassedly. "Between the two of us!"

Rowena and Alistair stood as still as statues, staring at her.

"You better hope to the Maker himself that I just misheard you," Rowena said quietly.

"I was not talking to you, _Lady Rowena_," Celene sneered; Rowena stiffened sharply at the sound of her former title. "King Alistair and I will address you when we wish for you to speak."

"Rowena can speak whenever she wants to speak," Alistair said in a low snarl; Celene merely smiled sympathetically and said, "Oh, my dear king, how you suffer. As I have said before, there is no need for you to put up with this woman's antics any longer. You have me now." Alistair furiously opened his mouth to respond; Celene, however, held up a hand and kept talking.

"When I first heard of your marriage to the sister of the Teyrn of Highever, I was appalled that the noble Theirin line was to be sullied with lesser blood. I knew your brother, and your father—both, I assure you, would be shocked to find you in such a union. And so, I began to think, 'Why, I am sure King Alistair would be delighted to have me take care of his nasty little situation.' I am right, _non_?"

**"Situation?"** Rowena cried as she began to tremble in fury. "What do you mean, situation?"

"Look at you," Celene said jeeringly. "You are the descendant of a common captain of the guard. You prance around half the time dressed as a boy, wanting to play the little _h__é__ros_. You are crude, uncultured, and indelicate. What royal prince wishes to have such a woman as his wife?"

"This royal—" Alistair began to say; but yet again, Celene steam-rolled past him and forced herself right into Rowena's face.

"But that is not the worst of your short-comings," the empress said, eyes glowing maliciously. "Not by far."

"Oh?" Rowena asked, face twisted with wrath and hatred. "What else am I lacking in?"

Triumph flashed across Celene's face. "The mere ability that is the duty of all royal wives," she said simply. "You, my dear lady, are infertile."

Rowena felt her blood turn to ice, unable to control the look of horror on her face. Her one weakness, that little nagging fear in the back of her mind—how the hell had Celene found it?

The empress seemed to notice the effect her words were having on Rowena, and seemed to take pleasure in it. "Oh, yes, you think we do not speak of this in Orlais? That is all we can talk about—whether or not the 'Queen' of Fereldan will have little _engeance _babies! Can you imagine that, my King? Your children, born as darkspawn? What a noble end to the line of Calenhad!" Her look became plaintive. "Oh, Your Majesty, what beautiful children I could give you! Can you imagine? A dynasty set up between our two families, an empire to be feared!"

Alistair put a protective arm around his wife. "Don't say another word, Celene," he growled. "I'm warning you."

"Oh yes, shield your wife!" she laughed contemptuously, tossing her head. "Protect her from the truth, keep her from seeing the facts! We wouldn't want her to know what she truly is—a complete, utter, disastrous failure…"

You could almost hear Rowena's breaking point snap. There was a flash of red, and suddenly Celene was on her back, Rowena throttling her from above in a blind rage. The empress squawked in pain—Rowena, however, was oblivious to her cries. It felt wonderful to finally vent her frustrations, to finally be able to strike out at this horrible, horrible woman…she could have gone on forever. Which is exactly why she raged ferociously at Alistair when he pulled her off her target.

"FOR THE LOVE OF THE MAKER, LET ME DO THIS!" she bellowed. Then, she saw what he was doing and froze.

Alistair had pulled Celene off the ground and now held her by her collar, his face absolutely distorted in wrath. Celene whimpered helplessly as he began to shake her slightly.

"HOW...DARE...YOU!" he roared, tightening his grip. "YOU WILL NEVER TALK TO MY WIFE LIKE THAT AGAIN!"

Celene's eyes were bugged out in terror. "B-but…" she squeaked, "Y-Your M-Majesty, s-she is…"

"LEAVE!" he yelled. "GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

At that moment, sounds of sprinting footsteps began to echo down the halls. Eruestan, Leliana, and Wynne zoomed around the corner, their faces flushed.

"Heard…shouting…" Eruestan panted. "Whazza matter?"

"Alistair, what are you doing?" Wynne asked sharply; his look of fury quickly morphed into sheepishness.

Seeing this, Celene quickly regained her cool. "If His Majesty would unhand me..." she said icily; reluctantly, Alistair loosened his grasp. Retreating several steps, Celene whirled around, a look of righteous hauteur in her eyes.

"You have made a serious mistake, little King," she said maliciously from the doorway. "These insults will not be tolerated. I shall leave tonight—this means war."

Eruestan's mouth dropped opened in horror. "Your Imperial M-Majesty, please," he stammered; Celene spat at his feet.

"Out of my way, _elfe_," she said disgustedly; Eruestan had to grab Leliana around the shoulders to prevent yet another attack on the Imperial person. "Guillame, _nous partons. Maintenant._" Everyone turned to see the sallow-faced advisor move away quickly from Rowena's armoire and join his mistress's side. With one last look of contempt, Celene glided away down the hall.

Wynne and Eruestan stared miserably at the now-empty doorway. The elf flew around angrily. "She was leaving in two days!" he howled. "You couldn't have waited for two days?"

"Not now, Eruestan," Alistair said sharply. He stooped down next to Rowena, who was still on her knees. She was shivering violently—only not out of anger this time.

"Don't listen to her," he murmured softly, gently stroking her hair. "It's a long time before we have to start worrying about that…"

She suddenly began to sob—the task in front of her seemed impossible, and no amount of fighting talent was ever going to save her. "D-damn her," she managed to choke out, fists balled up in hopeless frustration. They remained that way, too, until long after she had drifted into a wrathful sleep.

Roughly two hours later, Celene found herself rumbling out of Denerim via carriage, Ladies Dantine and Lisolette sitting dutifully across from her. Their departure from the city had been remarkably swift—Celene was surprised to see how efficient the palace guards were in helping the Orlesian entourage prepare to leave.

"At least that's one good thing about Fereldan," she said to herself. However, thinking about Fereldan merely blackened her mood. She had been so close! Just a little further, and Fereldan would have been Orlesian territory. Forever.

She sighed and rested her head against the back of the carriage. It was no matter—she'd be in Antiva soon, and maybe there'd be a Nevarran noble to entice. Besides, the prospect of war with that bastard Alistair was too exciting for her to be truly upset.

A noise in the dark made her frown and look out her window—it sounded almost as if someone had fallen off his horse. She couldn't see through the night—begrudgingly, she returned to her seat, hoping however it was hadn't injured himself.

The carriage was now passing by a grove of trees. _How pretty_, she thought lazily. Andraste's grace, what time was it? She yawned loudly—maybe she should try to get some sleep.

Suddenly, something very sharp grazed her arm. Eyes fluttering open, she looked down to see a thin trail of blood streaking through her newest pink dress.

"_Quoi…qu'est-ce qui est arriv__é __?_" she cried, turning to the ladies sitting across from her. "_Dantine, Lisolette, regarde ma robe…_"

Her voice trailed off in horror as she saw her two companions writhe about in horrible pain, both making tiny, muffled choking sounds. Finally, the two slumped over, heads tilted back, giving the empress a perfect view of the twin daggers jutting out of their necks.


	11. To Do or Not to Do

Someone was moving very forcefully through Rowena's chamber.

Irritated, she squinted as bright torches greeted her eyes, blinding her as to who was in the room. The next thing she knew, someone was yanking her away from her bed and onto her feet.

"Oy!" she cried blindly, struggling. "What do you think you're doing?"

"No time for talk," Leliana said briskly, sitting Rowena down firmly at her vanity. "We have trouble"

Rowena rubbed her eyes wearily—she'd never felt so exceptionally tired before in her life. "Can't it wait till tomorrow?" she asked sleepily. "It's got to be around two o'clock."

"Three, actually," Leliana said, pulling out a ribbon from one of the drawers. "But that's irrelevant. This cannot wait." She swiftly sweeped up Rowena's hair into a ponytail, tying it tight with the string; however, the lock of hair remaining from the thief who had assaulted her slipped out of the tie and brushed against Rowena's cheek. Leliana huffed impatiently and tried to scoop it back in; that, too, failed miserably.

"I swear, the instant I find the bastard who did this to you…" she muttered irritably, giving up. "Right in the front, too—how I am supposed to make you look decent if half your hair is missing?"

"Well, don't strain yourself," Rowena said, trying to be as sarcastic as she could through a yawn. As her eyes became adjusted to the light, Rowena saw that Leliana was dressed in a very fine set of Orlesian armor and that her hair was completely pushed off her face. Her bow was strapped to her back, and her two deadly hunting knives hung from her belt.

"What's going on?" she asked confusedly, slowly turning around in the chair.

"A whole squadron of guards was found dead in their barracks an hour ago," Leliana said, crossing over to where Alistair lay, still asleep. "And so, because of that, we have a situation that requires our immediate attention." She ripped the pillow out from under the king's head. "Come on, Alistair! We need to hurry!"

"S'matter?" he mumbled groggily into the mattress. "Gimme five more minutes."

Leliana socked him over the head with the pillow. "We don't HAVE five more minutes! Get up!" Alistair whimpered weakly and tried to shield himself under the blankets.

"Hey, hey, calm down," Rowena said, mildly annoyed as she struggled to understand her friend through a haze of confusion. "Why do _we_ personally have to chase down whoever did this?"

Leliana looked a little hesitant. "Well, these guards…let's just say they weren't just _any _guards."

Rowena frowned. "What do you mean?"

"They were…_important_, okay?"

She raised an eyebrow. "So they could…fly?"

"Wha—no, of course not!"

"Did they shoot energy bolts out of their eyes?"

"No. Rowena—"

"Hey, I want to play, too!" Alistair chirped, suddenly bright-eyed. "Were they…very good at making cheesecake?"

"NO," Leliana said, cheeks flushed. "If you must know, they were the guards we were going to give Celene as an escort."

It was almost incredible, the effect that name had on Rowena. It was as if everything shut off—an odd feeling for her. No more fatigue, no more despair, not even any more anger. She could feel both Alistair and Leliana watching her cautiously, waiting for the explosion they were sure was coming. However, what they didn't realize was that Rowena was far beyond any emotions when it came to Celene—a dull hollowness had taken the place of fury. Still staring blankly at the mirror, she lifted her hands to her head and began to try and tug away at the ribbon. Unfortunately, this had less of a dramatic effect than she would have liked, since as the knot Leliana had tied was about as impenetrable as Sten had been.

"Oh, Rowena, please!" Leliana cried, running across the room. "Please don't be like this! Celene's our responsibility!"

"No, she isn't!" Alistair barked, leaping out of bed. "Definitely not anymore!"

Leliana rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, Celene's a horrible person—she probably even deserves this—but she's also a GUEST in Fereldan! What would this look like to the rest of the world?"

"It'd look like she's a bitch who got what's coming for her," Alistair said, glowering.

"Alistair Theirin, watch your language," Wynne said severely as she walked into the room. "For the love of the Maker, why aren't you dressed? Eruestan has the horses ready and everything!"

"Oh, good luck, Wynne!" Leliana snapped, quickly walking over to the armoire and beginning to rifle through the cloaks. "Apparently, they WANT to plunge the entire country in war!"

"War? Please," Alistair scoffed. "People'll probably cheer us on! We'd be doing a service to humanity!"

"Remember, Celene's related to half the rulers in Thedas," Wynne chided. "And besides, even if she isn't the _nicest_ of people, she hardly deserves to DIE for it!"

"After what Celene said to Wena last night? Hell yes she does! I'd hire whoever did this myself if I knew how to do that stuff!"

Wynne furrowed her eyebrows. "What do you mean, 'after what she said last night'? I didn't get the impression that there was a lot of talking going on last night!"

"Hm, I wonder how you got that idea," Leliana said dryly as she pulled out two very worn riding cloaks. "I doubt there's a lot of time for conversation when you're trying to throttle the other party to death! I—urgh!" She ripped her hand away from the cloak rapidly as a large clump of hair fell to the ground. With a wrinkled nose, she picked it up off the ground and examined it through the torchlight. "Rowena, what in the name of the Maker was this doing on your cloak? Your hair isn't brown!"

This would normally have been the time for Rowena to say something snarky like _Brilliant observation_, and then go on a diatribe saying why she was refusing to help Celene. However, for some odd reason she still felt as though her mind was shrouded in a thick fog through which witty remarks had no chance of passing. So, instead, she said (albeit quite slowly), "Look, let's not talk about what happened with Celene. Just take our word for it when we say that we don't—"

Wynne crossed her arms sternly. "Tell us. Now."

"Wynne, it doesn't matter," Alistair said quickly, looking warily at Rowena. "Wena's right—we don't need to explain, it's just—"

Leliana sighed. "Wynne, they're making it up. They're just trying to get out of it."

"No, we aren't 'making it up'," Alistair said, irritated. "It's just not important."

"Oh, so you attack the leader of the most powerful country on the continent and the reason is _unimportant_? Wonderful."

"Not unimportant like _that_, Wynne, just—"

"I swear, the two of you can be so immatur—"

"Oy! Don't call us—"

"SHE CALLED ME INFERTILE!" Rowena bellowed, whirling around. "She said I was useless, dry, barren, you name it! She wanted to _offer_ herself to Alistair in place of me!" She felt tears building up behind her eyes, but she ignored them. "But you know what? I don't care! I don't! Because she's _right_. I probably won't have children! If I did, they'd probably be darkspawn anyway! So in the end, you'd probably be better off with Celene in the end, Alistair! Go on, don't let her get away!" She stopped abruptly, chest heaving as she stared everyone down in a desperate sense of triumph.

Across from her, Leliana, Wynne, and Alistair all stood stone still, alarmed. Then Leliana let out a long breath.

"That…_bitch_," she breathed in wonder.

Rowena half-laughed, half-sobbed. "You could say that again." (Then, her wit still a little slower than she would have liked.) "Quite a few times, actually."

Wynne crossed the room, shaking her head, and gave Rowena a huge bear hug. "What an odious woman," she said, tsking. "Don't you believe a single thing she says—if anyone could defy the impossible, it's you."

Rowena gave Wynne an even tighter hug. "Thanks, Wynne," she whispered.

"She is right, too!" Leliana said brightly, breaking open their hug so she could give Rowena one of her own. "The two of you are far too adorable for you to not procreate!"

Rowena laughed and hugged her just as tightly. "I hope so, Leli, I hope so." However, as she looked over Leliana's shoulder, Rowena saw Alistair looking at them with an unreadable expression on his face. Startled, Rowena stiffened slightly—she didn't know what that look meant.

Leliana broke apart from her and sighed. "Well, I guess we'll have to send _someone_ along, for appearances sake…luckily they didn't kill ALL the guards. Maybe we can send that new recruit with the mole and the halitosis—with any luck, they'll kill him and we can get a more attractive one to do the dinner patrols."

Rowena rolled her eyes, and then tugged annoyedly at her ponytail. "Do you think you could…?"

Leliana giggled. "Having trouble, are we? No problem." She darted behind Rowena and began to work on the string—within seconds, Rowena felt the bond loosen. "There." Coming back around, Leli began to ruffle the front of her hair, trying to smooth it out. Rowena contorted her face in disgust as she realized that Leliana was still holding the random bit of hair she'd found, whether out of absentmindedness or from some unbeknownst hair fetish.

However, when the hair began to go near her mouth, Rowena knew she'd had enough. "Blagh! Leli, watch it!"

"Oh, sorry!" Leliana said, freezing up. "I was just trying to get that awful hack-job to stay in…place…HOLY ANDRASTE!" Her shriek was so loud it made Rowena's ears ache.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked wildly.

Leliana had turned pale white, her eyes very wide. "The hair! The hair!"

"What's wrong?" Wynne asked anxiously. "What hair?"

Leliana seemed to be having some sort of fit. "It's hers! It's her hair!"

"No," Rowena said slowly, the feeling of confusion coming back. "Like you said, my hair isn't brown. In fact, the only person with hair like that would…be…"

"CELENE!" Everyone gasped in horror.

"You're being framed!" Leliana cried.

"No!" Wynne said quickly. "We don't know that—maybe it's been there for a while and we just haven't noticed?"

Leliana shook her head vigorously. "She hasn't worn this cloak in at least five months—good thing too, it's so shabby and nasty—anyways, there is no way Celene has gotten anywhere near this."

"Maybe it's someone's from five months ago then!" Wynne tried again. "One of the ladies at court, maybe?"

"No, it smells too nice," Leliana said, sniffing it. "Anything from Ferelden smells like—sorry, everyone—wet dog if you leave it here too long. This is definitely Orlesian, and it is definitely Celene's."

Wynne gasped. "Wait, if that's Celene's lock of hair, then Rowena's…"

"…is probably about five minutes away from being found on the Imperial Corpse," Leliana finished grimly.

"So basically, what you're saying is that if Celene dies, everyone's going to have 'proof' that Rowena did it?" Alistair asked slowly.

Wynne and Leliana exchanged grim looks, then nodded.

He sighed. "And _how_ many monarchs are related to her again?"

The two of them smiled wanly, then turned worriedly to Rowena. "How do you feel about this?" Leliana asked cautiously.

Rowena closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Saving Celene meant willingly helping the woman who'd insulted her more deeply than anyone she'd ever met. However, letting her die would probably bring the forces of hell down on the country. Or something else that was probably just as bad, like raining dogs or a perpetual socks-as-Satinalia-presents sort of scenario. Plus, there was that look Alistair had—that had to do something with Celene! With a sigh of concession, Rowena opened her eyes slowly and set her jaw determinedly.

"Let's do this," she snarled.

_Sorry for the lack of updates-school can be an expletive sometimes!_

_I still really appreciate all the great feedback and I hope everyone's fall is going well!_


	12. The Darkness of Night

The party rode in silence, the cold night air swirling around them through the mists. There was an almost sanctity towards the absolute stillness of the darkness surrounding them—Rowena found it absolutely oppressing.

"Not exactly uplifting out here, is it?" she nervously laughed under her breath to Alistair. He didn't answer. "Er…hello?"

He shook his head and frowned, as if coming out of a deep thought. "Sorry, what?" She repeated herself slowly, a vague feeling of concern growing in the back of her mind. He didn't laugh, or even respond—rather, he looked hopelessly confused.

"I'm…sorry," he said, looking forward, "I-I need...to think…" Blushing bright red, he dug his heels into his horse and began to barrel down the road.

Rowena felt her blood turn to ice as she watched the king gallop down the path.

"What the—oh, for the love of the Maker!" Eruestan cried, pulling up behind her—he issued an order to a group of guards who quickly ran up after the monarch. "Why does he always do that? What's the matter with him?"

"I don't know," Rowena murmured, eyes clouded with worry. "He was like that back at the palace…I think it's got something to do with me…"

Eruestan, Leliana, and Wynne all scoffed.

"What?" Rowena asked frustratedly. "You didn't see the way he was acting."

"Oh, please, when is he ever upset about you?" Leliana asked skeptically. "You could eat a puppy and he'd still be crawling at your feet."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far," Eruestan said quickly, "but seeing as you'd never eat a puppy I think it's safe to say that you don't have to worry about his leaving anytime soon."

"But you don't understand!" Rowena whispered in anguish. "I think something Celene said struck a chord with him!"

The other three stared at each other, and then roared with laughter.

"Now you're afraid of losing him to CELENE?" Leliana giggled, wiping a tear off her face. "Oh dear, you _are_ upset!"

"I'm sure you're very worried," Wynne said soothingly at Rowena's look of hopelessness. "But at the same time, I think you're playing a bit too much into the moment, so to speak. Let's face it—you're tired, you're very upset, you've got a very stressful situation in front of you—many lesser women would fall to pieces with half that pressure. What you just need to do is take a deep breath and try to rel—"

There was the sound of distant galloping, and all of a sudden one of Alistair's guards thundered before them. "The king needs you up the road, Your Majesty," he gasped, holding in his horse's reins.

Rowena nodded grimly and dug her heels into her steed, galloping at full speed down the path. As she rode, she began to notice a faint burning smell that she hadn't recognized before. Confused, she circled around a hill and instantly saw what the matter was.

Before her, the entire Orlesian train lay in ruins, the remains of carriages, wagons, and noblemen littering the ground. Several vehicles were in flames, and blood lay in puddles in the dirt.

"Holy Andraste," she breathed, staring down at the long line of carnage—it seemed to stretch for miles. How could anyone have killed so many people so easily?

Behind her, she heard hooves approach followed by three consecutive gasps of horror. "Maferath's knickers," Eruestan swore, eyes wide. "Tonight wasn't the night to be traveling, apparently."

"Where's Alistair?" Wynne asked anxiously. "We should stick together, shouldn't we?"

"The King is at the Imperial Carriage, ma'am," the soldier said. "Here, I'll take you there." The group began to pick its way through the gore, all subdued by the awfulness of the situation.

They eventually approached a giant yellow carriage that was turned on its side. Alistair and another soldier were busy working on opening one of the doors, but to no avail.

"It's really stuck," Alistair panted as he saw his companions dismount. "Not even the two of us can open it."

Eruestan drew himself up importantly. "Here, allow me." Thrusting out an arm, he issued out a flash of light that caused the door to fly open and, almost as an afterthought, caused the carriage to right itself once more.

Alistair peered into the carriage and instantly drew back in revulsion. "Blech. I really did not want to wake up to that."

Curious, Rowena stepped forward as well to look inside. To her disgust, she saw Ladies Lisolette and Dantine slumped over in their seats, drenched in pools of their own blood. What made the scene particularly revolting was the fact that Lady Lisolette's lap dog was delicately lapping the blood congealing on his mistress's neck.

"Remind me never to buy a dog smaller than my own head," she said fervently.

Eruestan and Leliana both backed away slowly from the carriage. "Does anyone know why Celene isn't in there?" the elf asked quietly.

"Do you think they dragged her away on purpose?" Wynne asked nervously.

"That's not really their way of doing things," Leliana said uncertainly. "It's possible, I suppose…still, the opportunity of the empress being found eaten by a dog would be too good for them to pass up."

"Let's spread out," Rowena suggested. "Leli, Wynne, why don't we search around here, and Eruestan and Alistair" (she made eye contact with him, which he quickly broke) "you can carry on further down the road."

"Is that really wise?" Wynne protested. "We don't know if we're alone, after all."

"Oh, we'll be fine," Leliana said brightly. "This'll be fun, like a scavenger hunt!"

"Yeah!" Eruestan said less enthusiastically. "A hunt for dead bodies…"

"Well, _somebody's_ pessimistic," Leliana said sulkily.

"Come on, let's go," Alistair said quietly. He began to stalk through the flames, disappearing behind a column of smoke.

Rowena grabbed Eruestan's hand. "Watch over him," she said pleadingly. "You don't know how worried I am about him."

"Maker, Rowena," Eruestan said half-laughingly, "he's just tired, that's all!"

"No, he isn't," she insisted. She gripped his hand even tighter. "Eruestan, I'm serious. I'd go instead, but…" She didn't finish—she could hardly admit to herself that she was slightly afraid of what his reactions would be, let alone tell anyone else.

Her friend rolled his eyes, but squeezed her hand tightly, confirming his promise with a smile. He then turned around and disappeared into the blaze as well.

Rowena sighed. "Well, shall we get to it?"

The three women began their search, occasionally bending down to examine a corpse that had been bloodied beyond recognition. Despite their efforts, by the time they had reached the edge of the road they hadn't found anyone of note.

"I guess we could move further down that way," Rowena said dubiously, " although I can't see why she'd be there."

"Maybe she's in the trees!" Leliana said excitedly. The other women stared at her. "Sorry. I'm having a bit too much fun with this."

"Well, I'm glad someone is," Wynne said wearily. "To be honest, I can't see anything remotely fun about this entire situation. Celene is probably lying in a shallow ditch near Amaranthine by now…"

"We're not giving up just yet, Wy—hang on," Rowena said, frowning. She bent down and picked up a swath of purple fabric that had been ensnared on a shrub. "What's this doing here?"

Leliana peered at it. "That's quality material," she said eagerly. "REALLY expensive…"

Rowena looked down on the wooded hill the road bordered. She could faintly make out a small trail that had been cut through the forest itself, something she wouldn't have seen if she hadn't been looking for it.

"Look," she said quietly, pointing. "I think Celene managed to escape after all."

It happened so suddenly Rowena hardly had time to think. There was a loud rustling in the trees, and four men dressed in black dropped from the tops. The three women acted as if by instinct. Rowena quickly cracked her sheathed sword across her assailant's face, breaking his neck; beside her, Leliana snapped her opponent's arm in half, catching his falling weapon and using it to slit his throat. Facing down two assassins, Wynne slammed her staff to the ground—the two men were instantly frozen in a magical cage, making it all too easy for Leliana to swiftly stab them to death.

"Well, that was fun," Wynne said dryly.

Rowena drew her sword menacingly. "Not so fast," she snarled. "I don't think we're alone yet."

Sure enough, about five "corpses" suddenly sprung to life, all falling into fighting positions. Rowena and Leliana steadied themselves; however, one of the figures in the back waved its arms quickly and sent an enormous ball of flame flying towards them. The two women drew back; Wynne, however, leapt forward and with a slash of her staff sent it roaring back towards the mountain. It collided into the cliff with an immense boom that echoed into the night. For an instant, there was a pregnant silence. Then, with a slow rumbling, a giant portion of the mountain began a reluctant collapse down towards the battle below.

Wynne's face paled. "That didn't do what I wanted it to," she said quickly. "RUN!"

The assassins dove to the side and quickly disappeared into the woods. Not presented with any other options, Rowena, Wynne, and Leliana disappeared into the forest as well, running as fast as they could as a large boulder bounced off the trail and began its descent down the hill. Rowena soon lost sight of both of her friends, everything having disappeared in a sea of trees. Despite running to the best of her ability, she realized to her horror that the rumbling noise behind her was steadily growing louder. Desperate, she tried to dive to her left, but the think trees seemed to form a wall around her. The sound of rolling rock roaring in her ears, she closed her eyes tight, ready to face what fate had in store for her…

The sound intensified, then proceed to fade away. Confused, she opened her eyes to see a giant path cut out of the forest in front of her. In the distance, the boulder was slowly losing momentum, it having passed right by her.

"Oh, sweet Andraste," she said in immense relief. She leaned against the nearest tree, intensely happy to be alive.

It was then that she heard it—a faint rustling coming from a nearby bush. Teeth bared in a snarl, she leapt forward with her sword drawn…to find the empress herself cowering within the shrub.

"_SAINTE ANDRASTE, PROTEGEZ-MOI!" _Celene screamed, eyes wide in terror. "_NE ME TUEZ PAS!_"

"What—Celene, it's me," Rowena said confusedly, taking a step forward. The empress shuddered and drew back.

"_Je ne veux pas mourir, je ne veux pas mourir_," she muttered, hands frantically clutching each other.

"Celene, you're not going to die," Rowena said soothingly, reaching out a hand to her—the empress responded with a blood-curdling shriek that echoed in the night air.

"Keep your voice down!" Rowena hissed, eyes wide. "We don't know who can hear us…"

The empress, however, seemed to interpret this a bit differently. "_AIDEZ-MOI! LA REINE VA ME TUER! AIDEZ-MOI!"_

Rowena slapped the empress across her face; the woman spluttered and looked at her in absolute terror.

"_Celene,_" Rowena said firmly, "_je ne vais pas vous tuer. Je suis ici pour vous aider._"

The empress laughed maniacally. "Oh, _bien sur_," she said hysterically. "You are here to help me. Of course you want me to think that, you horrible woman!"

Rowena took a deep breath. "I didn't hire those assassins, Celene…"

"AHA!" the empress shouted. "How do you know about the assassins when you have not yet seen them? Eh? _Qu'est-ce que vous pouvez dire maintenant?_"

"I knew about them because they attacked us," Rowena said crossly. "That's why I'm in this forest in the first place."

The empress didn't seem to be able to understand. "But if you did not hire these assassins, who did?"

"That is an excellent question," someone said from the shadows.

Rowena spun around. There, leaning against a tree with a sardonic smile, was Guillame du Jader.


	13. Maker Save the Queen

"_Guillame_," Celene breathed in relief. "_Gr__â__ce au Cr__é__ateur! J'__é__tais certaine que tu avais __é__t__é__ tu__é__…"_

Her advisor ignored her. "You know, Queen Rowena," he said, pushing himself off of the tree, "you really have the most extraordinary luck."

"Do I?" Rowena asked coldly, deftly switching her stance to a more defensive position.

"Oh, of course," he said, a faint smile twitching across his face. "For example, you somehow managed to fight off the sleeping draught I gave you earlier tonight, even when it was supposed to keep you out of the picture for another ten hours at least."

Rowena suddenly remembered him giving her a glass of water at the ball. That bastard had drugged it? Oh, it was _on_. Tossing her head, she smiled grimly and said, "Well, I can't say I'm sorry to disappoint."

Guillame smiled. "No matter…I had intended for you and the king both to be unconscious for the duration of this…_adventure_, I suppose, but there your luck comes into play again, as you've happened to marry one of the most loyal men I've ever met."

"How so?" she asked coldly.

"He refused to even consider drinking anything after you went under," the Orlesian scowled. "It was almost indecent."

Rowena gave a sharp laugh. "Well, I'd thank you for the compliment, monsieur, but I can't see how you'd know a very large amount of loyal men."

"Fair enough," he admitted. "But I'm afraid that's the trouble with my line of work."

"What do you mean, your line of work?' Celene said suddenly, alarmed. "And why did you have her drugged without my knowledge? I would have liked to have been _partie _to this plan too! Guillame, what is going on?"

Again, he ignored her. "You, on the other hand, Your Majesty, seem to have no trouble finding loyal followers," he said, frowning. "For example, the Surana elf, who's paranoid enough to have been tailing me for weeks without end; that blasted mage woman who hovers over you like a mother hen; and, of course, that girl you keep with you, which if not for her peculiarly intense skills of observation you might still be sleeping in a bed in Denerim."

Rowena flushed with pride. "You should've known better than to expect Leli not to notice a giant clump of hair perching on one of my cloaks."

He shook his head, smiling yet again. "Of course. She is an Orlesian bard, after all—it was rather foolish of me to take that risk. My employers were very clear that you were not to know of our scheme until it was too late for you to interfere. They were worried about any…_complications_ you might bring about."

"Guillame!" Celene snapped, standing up straight. "What in the name of the Maker are you talking about? I certainly gave you no such orders!"

"For the love of the Maker, do you _ever_ shut up?" he snapped, finally acknowledging her. "Do you honestly still think that I'm still working for you?"

Celene took a step back in shock. "B-but…y-ou have b-been under my employ for s-seven…"

"Even then, I was not working for _you_," he said in contempt. "All that time, I was weaseling my way closer to you just to find a way to bring your downfall!"

Celene shrank against a tree. "W-what do you m-mean," she gasped. "My downfall?"

He advanced toward her. "Did you really believe that I would put up with you and your insipid followers for so long, just to wipe crumbs from the Imperial sleeves? A man of _my_ talents, with _my _education, reduced to guarding the doors to the Imperial bedchamber? You're far from stupid, Celene. You of all people should have known, Celene, that I was meant to kill you from the moment I first fell at your feet!"

The empress turned pale white; with a faint shriek, she slid down the length of the tree, seemingly in shock.

Rowena, however, was not impressed. "You know, for as frightening as you Crows are supposed to be, you sure like to take your time," she said. "Seven years, huh? What, a simple axe to the skull wasn't good enough?"

He gave her an odd look. "The Crows are not my masters," he said quietly.

She blinked. "Wha—they're not?"

"No," du Jader said; Rowena noticed his left hand slip slowly into his cloak. "No, the Crows are mere tools in a much larger scheme, a plan that involves all of Thedas in its completion."

Rowena gave a slight snort. "I'm sorry? Killing Celene is your great plan to take over the world?" Behind her, Celene gave a whimper of terror. "Let's keep things realistic. She may be important, sure, but there's always going to be someone to inherit the empire. That can't seriously be all you've got."

"It certainly plays a part," he replied. "The empress of Orlais dead, murdered on Fereldan soil…the next emperor would have to retaliate, just to maintain the impression that no one can just walk over the Orlesian Empire. It's brilliant…a fierce war raging on the southern half of the continent…a perfect distraction for my masters' plot."

"What sort of plot?" she asked icily; she subtly moved her sword into a blocking position as du Jader pulled out a long, jagged dagger.

"That is not important," he said shortly. "It's not like you'll be alive to see it carried out, after all."

With that, he threw something at his feet, and instantly the area was pitched into complete and total darkness.

Rowena instantly closed her eyes, her ears straining to hear any movement. Moving almost by instinct, she bent back just in time to feel cold steel glide silently through the air where she had been standing. Jumping back up, she slashed forward with her own blade; however, a swift whisper from her left caused her to quickly raise her shield, blocking a fierce blow to her chest.

"Hm…most people crumple the instant they go up against obscurity powder," Guillame panted from in front of her, sounding absolutely thrilled. "Wonderful…it's been so long since I've met a worthy combatant on the field."

"Glad to be of service," Rowena said quickly. She nimbly dodged to the left as he slashed forward; she quickly hacked at where he had been, yet all she struck was empty air. She whirled around as she heard a slight crack behind her; halfway around, though, she changed direction, slashing around and nearly making contact with duJader's flesh. Thinking quickly, she feinted to her right; as she expected, the Orlesian attacked her exposed left flank, which she quickly defended with an abrupt stance change. However, before she could attack, the assassin rammed into her, sending her reeling backwards into the giant mass of fabric that was Celene. The jolt seemed to jar the empress out of her terror—with a squawk she jumped up and started to bolt.

There was a swift murmur from in front of them—Rowena winced as she heard Celene give a terrified scream. Fearing the worst, she peered through the slowly diluting powder only to see that the empress's sleeve had been pinned to a nearby tree by a pair of small throwing knives.

"Now, now, Celene, running's not part of the game," du Jader's voice echoed tauntingly from the trees. "Do that again and I might have to kill you." The empress paled even further and fainted, apparently overwhelmed with fear.

"Oh, could you be any less helpful!" Rowena muttered wildly, rising to her feet once more. The powder was steadily beginning to diffuse; however, duJader was nowhere to be seen. Steeling herself, Rowena took a hesitant step forward…and then fell back on her back as a series of gentle sighs flew from the trees—she looked up just in time to see another set of throwing knives embed themselves into the pine behind her. Springing back into a crouching position, Rowena let the next series of blades collide with her shield and then sent one of her own flying back to the trees.

"Excellent shot, Your Majesty," du Jader's silky voice murmured into her left ear, "but I'm afraid I'm not there anymore…"

Rowena's sword plunged behind her so fast she was sure she would feel it hack into du Jader's flesh. However, it met with no resistance, and the unexpected leeway caused her to stumble back slightly. Anticipating the attack that she knew was coming for her unsteady legs, Rowena willed herself to regain her balance. Flipping over du Jader's cheap-shot at her lower half, she slashed down with her blade in midair, this time having the satisfaction of making contact with his slimy face. As the dust had now fully vanished, she was able to grimly appreciate the thin line of blood that was now trickling down the Orlesian's forehead.

The two stared at each other darkly for an instant. Then, almost simultaneously, they both charged forward, blades flashing in front of them. At the last minute, Rowena dropped to her knees and slashed out with her sword, confident that du Jader's momentum would lead to his dismemberment. However, the Orlesian smoothly vaulted over the flash of steel, and, almost in slow motion, his blade gently, gracefully drifted through the air and slightly grazed the back of Rowena's neck.

Instantly, her wound began to go numb. Horrified, she felt the feeling slowly spread down her back. Struggling to remain upright, she made a few feeble attempts to swipe out with her blade; however, as the effects of the poison grew, she toppled to the ground.

"Y-you…b-b-bastard," she gasped, glaring at him as he bent over her gleefully.

"I'm touched," he said slickly, grinning. "But come now, did you really expect me to play fair?" He tsked her gently, taking an obscene sort of pleasure in watching her twitch feebly. "I'm sorry, are you missing something?" He pulled out a small bottle from inside his cloak. "What's that? You didn't bring your own antidote? Oh, well. Too bad—this was fun while it lasted. I congratulate you, I really do. Now, the question is, do I kill you now, or let you slowly suffocate to death? Oh, decisions, decisions…"

Rowena's eyes widened in horror as she realized what fate lay before her. Even as he spoke, she could feel that horrible numbness begin to reach her lungs. Instantly, the faces of her loved ones flashed before her eyes: her parents, her brother, all her friends, and Alistair, above all Alistair…no, no, she couldn't leave him, not without saying goodbye…she began to struggle violently, passionately unwilling to go gently towards her death.

Du Jader shook his head pensively. "No, you're right, people like you should be disposed of quickly," he mused. "Less liability that way." He picked her sword up from off the ground and raised it above his head. "Rest in peace, Your Majesty."

Rowena tightly closed her eyes, determined that her last thoughts be about those she loved. With a sinking feeling, she heard the sound of a blade piercing armor and flesh, and she was sure her death had come.

However, when she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see that it was not her, but Guillame du Jader who had a blade protruding from his stomach.

The Orlesian stared in wonder at the delicate throwing knife jutting out from above his navel. He dropped to his knees, gently gasping for breath. Then, a perfectly manicured hand reached forward and with another knife crudely slit his throat from ear to ear. A geyser of blood pouring from his wound, Guillame du Jader crumpled to the ground, dead.

Rowena stared in absolute wonder at the woman who had finished the deed. Celene stood drenched in blood, a look of unadulterated fury emblazoned on her face.

"_Comment ose-tu, petit homme!_" she shrieked, beginning to hack at his dead body with his own throwing knife. "_Je suis l'imp__é__ratrice! T'es un cafard sous mes chaussures!"_

Rowena felt her jaw drop in amazement; however, at that moment her lungs inconvenienced her by ceasing to function. "C-Celene," she gasped, the numbness beginning to seep into her chest. "H-he-help…"

The empress, however, had ears only for her victim. "_Connard…cr__é__tin…tu n'es rien…" _

Rowena began to gasp for breath, body twitching violently on the ground. Looking over, she saw in despair that the empress was completely oblivious to the antidote that lay in du Jader's limp hand. _By the Maker, if this woman lets me die after all she's put me through, I __will__ return from the Fade to torment her_, she thought desperately, choking silently. Her lungs were going to burst, there was no other option, her chest was on fire…face contorted in agony, she put all her remaining strength in one last attempt to scream.

No sound came out of her mouth.

Then, she succumbed to the blanket of death that stifled her.


	14. On n'aime que ce qu'on ne possède pas

Rowena was everywhere, and yet nowhere. She had a glorious sensation as though she was expanding beyond her body; she was flying, soaring towards whatever lay in store for her...

But then, something odd happened. She started to retract into herself; something ice-cold was trickling down her throat; she was on fire; she was emerging from the water; she was alive...

With an immense gasp for breath, Rowena snapped back into the world of the living, mind overwhelmed with sensory overload. Hacking for breath, she squinted through her dazed vision and was slowly able to make out Wynne's relieved face.

"There, there," Wynne cooed, gently stroking her hair. "You're all right now."

"C-Celene," Rowena panted, looking around. "W-where is she?"

"Sh," Wynne hummed. "She's right here; not, of course, that that did you any good."

Someone tutted from behind; Rowena looked over Wynne's shoulder to see the empress staring down at them coldly, vivid vermillion blood stains in stark contrast with the pink of her dress.

"Oh, no," Wynne snapped, rising to her feet. Guillame du Jader's bottle of antidote fell to the ground beside her. "I know that tut. _You _aren't allowed to do that, of all people. How dare you act like that after all we've done for you!"

"Wynne, please," Rowena began hastily; the mage, however, waved her off.

"You've done enough fighting for today, dear," she beamed. Turning back to the empress, Wynne's face became decidedly less pleasant. "You are the most _ungrateful_, the most _arrogant_, and the most _odious_ woman that I have ever had the misfortune of meeting! Not only do you insult our sweet Rowena beyond imagination, but you practically let her die next to you after she saves your life! Maker forbid you turn away from your little revenge game to save her from the poison taking over her body! Why, there would have been two corpses here tonight if you had had your way! Sweet Andraste—my Rowena, who wouldn't hurt a fly?"

Rowena thought that was a bit of a stretch; after all, there was a bleeding corpse lying a few feet away from her, and it wasn't as if Celene had done _all_ the work. However, she had to admit, it was rather fun to see someone else rail on Celene for a while.

Without them trying to kill her, of course.

Wynne marched towards the empress, stewing. "I swear by the Maker himself, Celene, that if I hadn't just risked my life to save you, I'd…"

She made a waving movement with her hand; knowing the warning signs when she saw them, Rowena bolstered her strength and rose to her feet.

"Wynne," she said, grabbing the mage's arm. "Wynne, where are the others?"

Wynne looked over in slight distraction, a scowl still lingering on her face. "They're fine, dear," she murmured, gently pushing her aside. "I'm sure they are…now, if you'd just let me…"

Rowena stepped in front of her in alarm, blocking her snarl to Celene. "What do you mean, 'you're sure'?" she gasped. "You don't know?"

"Yes, I do," Wynne said quickly. "Well, for the most part. Leliana hasn't shown up yet, but you know her, odds are she's picking flowers somewhere. No need to be worried; so, naturally, Eruestan's a wreck. That's nothing, though, to the way Alistair's acting; blundering through the forest looking for you, I swear he's going to attract all the Crows in a five mile radius."

Rowena swore. "Why didn't you tell me sooner!" she cried, breaking off for the trees. "They're all in danger!"

"They'll be fine," Wynne replied, running forward. "You know as well as I do that all three of them are perfectly capable of handling whatever's out there; what you need to do is rest."

"I'm feeling great!" Rowena protested.

Wynne raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe great's pushing it," she admitted. "But I have to do something!"

"You've done enough," Wynne replied. "It'd be irresponsible of me to let you go in your condition…but at the same time, we should tell everyone you're all right…" She bit her lip. "I suppose I could go, if you're sure you're all right…"

"Trust me, I'm fine," Rowena promised. "It's me—I can handle it." She lowered her voice. "I guess this is better, actually—I'd like to have a few words with _her_."

Wynne grinned. "Give her hell from me," she whispered. With one final death-glare at the empress, the mage squared her shoulders and disappeared once more into the night.

Rowena instantly became aware of the blaring silence in the clearing. Celene was scrubbing her sleeve like a madwoman, trying to remove the bloodstains upon it. Finally, with a sigh she gave up and said, "You Fereldans certainly like to speak your minds, don't you?"

Rowena smiled faintly. "It's a bit like the national pastime, to be honest."

Celene gave a slight smile as well. "Well, I know for a fact that you do not like to mince words; what is that expression you have? Frankness is your middle name?"

"It's Elizabeth, actually," Rowena said sardonically. "But yes, that is true."

The empress gave her a weary look. "So I can trust you to tell me with complete and total honesty why you saved my life this night?"

Rowena looked down. "You're the one who killed du Jader, Celene," she said. "You saved your own life."

"Oh, bah!" the empress huffed. "Do not play the fool with me. What I did was insignificant. _Ce b__â__tarde_" (she spat on his corpse) "merely forgot as so many have before him that I was not always empress of Orlais. If honesty is Ferelden's pastime, then intrigue is Orlais's—many have died by my word, and others by my hand." She smoothed her gown primly, as if such talk was inappropriate even under the current circumstances. "But the fact of the matter is, if you had not arrived when you did, I would be the one lying bloody on the ground. And now I ask you quite plainly why you came. There is no love lost between us, after all."

"W-well, you know, p-politically—," Rowena stammered, caught off guard.

Celene waved her hand impatiently. "A team of soldiers would have fulfilled your political obligations; there was no need for you to come out here."

Rowena took a deep breath. "Alistair," she said, eyes closed.

There was a loud snort; Rowena looked up to see the empress staring at her incredulously. "Your husband made you come out here after what I said to you? No, wait—_your_ husband made you do _anything_?"

"No, he didn't _make_ me," Rowena said, annoyed. "It's just…I think…something's changed in him since last night. He's been acting odd." She ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know—I just feel like, maybe he feels that he made a mistake." She shivered. "If I let you die out here, I'd never know what he'd have done if you had lived…"

Celene sniffed. "Well, you must have suffered a slight bit of brain damage from that poison."

Rowena froze. "Beg pardon?"

The empress snorted. "_Ch__è__re Andraste, vous __ê__tes sérieuse._" She shook her head in disbelief. "_Incroyable._ Do you really think that your husband doubts for a moment his marriage to you?s ever done?"

She frowned. "You said it yourself. I'm practically useless as a queen."

"I said that in order to seduce your husband," Celene scoffed. "Which, I assure you, failed miserably. Can you really not see that you mean more to that man than anything else in the world? Lesser men would have fallen at my feet in an instant—I have seen it happen with my own eye. But him? Never. He is far too much in love with you." The empress sighed deeply; it was such an uncharacteristically exhausted sound that Rowena looked up in surprise. "Do not be fooled by my words from this night, Rowena. Despite all that I have said, _you_ are the fortunate one. You are young, beautiful, loved by all who know you…things that I cannot pretend to any longer." She gave a harsh laugh. "This world is demanding indeed, when a woman is past her prime at age thirty…Not very many men would take me at my age, especially after my looks have faded."

"And so you wanted Alistair," Rowena said softly.

The empress looked up sharply. "Yes, yes I did," she replied. "Once for his kingdom, of course, and again for himself. Theirin men, as I'm sure you know, are some of the best one can find. Thrice I have worked for one, and thrice I have been denied." Her voice cracked slightly. "Yes, it is a lonely place, this throne of mine…" Her voice trailed off as she looked into the night.

Rowena stared at the woman before her, a strange feeling welling in her heart. Unbelievably, she began to pity her. Celene had spoken true—at thirty years, having a healthy child was as unlikely as Rowena having one herself. At the very least, she would have Alistair throughout the years to come; Celene didn't even have that luxury. She couldn't imagine what that would feel like; hell, if she were that conceited and that desperate, she'd try to do what Celene did, too. Deeply moved, she got the sudden impulse to embrace her. However, as she moved forward, there was a slight rustling from the bushes behind her. Blade flashing through the air, she whirled around to see Leliana standing silently at the end of the steel.

"Leli!" she gasped, dropping the weapon. "You're all right!"

Her friend nodded; she seemed somewhat distracted. "Yes, I'm fine," she mumbled. Rowena noticed that her eyes were glimmering rather oddly.

"Well, are you hurt?" Rowena asked, peering at her. "Did you run into any of the Crows?"

Leli blushed furiously at those words and began coughing. "Yes," she admitted finally. "But…I made sure they wouldn't come back."

Confused, Rowena began to open her mouth when someone crashed through the trees beside her yet again and crushed her in a mesh of armor.

Alistair and Rowena embraced tightly for a good minute, and then pulled apart to scrutinize each other's appearance. "Are you all right?" she asked hurriedly, searching his face. "That cut on your forehead, has someone looked at that?"

"Never mind about me," he said anxiously. "What about you? Wynne didn't really have time to explain what happened…"

She smiled tiredly at him. "Oh, nothing too serious. I nearly asphyxiated to death from a paralysis poison, but other than that I'm fine."

He gave a half-laugh, half-sob, and hugged her closer. "Any other person and I'd think you were joking," he chuckled, squeezing her ever more tightly against his ribcage.

"I saved her from suffocation once, Alistair Theirin, let's not test our luck," Wynne quipped as she walked into the clearing. Behind her, Eruestan gave a shout of joy and crashed into Leliana, who looked extremely happy to see him, even if still a bit diverted.

Alistair slowly pulled apart from Rowena and turned towards the empress, who had been standing slightly muted to the side. "Celene," he said murderously. "I understand you nearly let Rowena die right next to you?"

Rowena's eyes widened. "No!" she said quickly, stepping in front of him. "Really, she didn't, I promise."

He looked down at her in shock. "Are you…_defending_ her?"

She locked eyes with him. "Alistair, Celene saved my life."

Alistair stared incredulously at her for a long moment, then flushed with embarrassment and looked back at Celene. "Well, uh, that changes…things…" He cleared his throat and strided over to her, awkwardly bowing on one knee. "In that case, I owe you the deepest of debts."

Celene shook her head. "We both know that is not true, Your Majesty."

"Yeah, you're right," he said, grinning. "But, you know, chivalry and all that."

Eruestan cleared his throat. "We need to head back," he said firmly, an arm wrapped protectively around Leliana. "People will worry if we're gone for too long."

Alistair nodded. "Yes, we wouldn't want people running around looting Denerim without our having done them the grace of dying first…"

"Oh, I don't know," Rowena teased. "That would certainly be interesting."

He chuckled, slowly walking towards the trees, letting the others pass before him. "You know, this probably goes without saying, but did I mention how ecstatic I am that you weren't killed?"

She smiled and lovingly entwined her fingers with his. "Same here, love, same here…"

And with that, they disappeared into the trees, paving a path before them with their love.


	15. Adieu, ma reine

A warm spring breeze had approached Denerim, chasing the last vestiges of winter from the city. In the palace, all of the windows were pulled open, the sheets laid out to air, and the gardens put into full rehabilitation mode. The sun shone brightly on the harried antics of a small army of servants working to prepare Celene for her return to Orlais.

Rowena looked down amusedly at the courtyard below, lazily playing with Alistair's hair as he laid his head in her lap. Across the room from them, Eruestan was writing several letters of condolences to the noble houses of Orlais while Wynne read from her armchair and Leliana tuned her lute. She closed her eyes and breathed it all in; it was almost too perfect to be true.

There was a knock on the door; a moment later, the empress stepped inside the room, dressed in a smart ermine travelling gown. _She would be the one to ruin it,_ Rowena thought impishly as she rose to her feet. She smiled at the look Celene gave her; evidently pants and a ponytail were lows that the empress didn't even think she'd sink to.

Celene, however, recovered gracefully from her shock. "I just come to bid you farewell," she said, curtsying before them. "Also, I must thank you for your generosity in these past few days; I would not have expected it."

"Please, it's the least we can do," Alistair smiled. "Are you sure the Orlesian party will meet you at the border?"

She nodded. "Now _there _is something I am not looking forward to," she said, sighing. "30 noble houses, all filled with vacancies—they shall be killing each other in the streets by Summerday."

"Sounds like fun," Eruestan remarked. "Ah, before you go, Your Imperial Majesty, I wanted to speak a few words with you."

The empress bowed before him. "I am all ears."

The elf smiled to himself and gently tweaked one of his own ears. "Rowena mentioned that du Jader said that he was working under a much larger operation before he died. Obviously it's in both of our interests if we can find out who this organization is. I have a few contacts who are on their way to Antiva as we speak; however, beyond that we're left grasping for straws. Would you have any ideas as to where to start?"

She shook her head. "I have given that much thought as well. Unfortunately, the only person I would know who would have those sort of connections just tried to kill me. I can search around in Orlais; however, I cannot promise anything."

"Neither can we," Eruestan said grimly. "But at least it's a start."

A bell rang from the courtyard down below. "That is my call," Celene said. "Time to let the battle begin…"

Rowena stepped forward and bowed before her Imperial Majesty. "It has been very interesting meeting you, Celene," she said truthfully.

"And you as well, Rowena," the empress replied. For a moment, the two rulers gave each an odd look, one that neither knew quite what it meant. Then Celene broke away, and with a final adieu began to walk down the hall.

Alistair gave a huge sigh of relief. "Thank the _Maker_ that's over," he yawned, lying down once more; Rowena laughed and threw herself on top of him. "I was beginning to worry she'd never leave."

Rowena shrugged. "You know, by the end, she really wasn't all that bad."

There was a series of boos, and all of a sudden Rowena had to shelter herself from a shower of books, crumpled pieces of paper, and lute strings.

"Well, it's true," she laughed, shaking the debris off herself. "Now that I understand her a bit better, she's not _such_ a hag."

Alistair gave her a quizzical look. "You understand her better?"

She smiled and nestled her head deeper against his chest, marveling that his heart beat for her just as hers beat for his. _That's what Celene is missing_, she thought happily. _That's what I'm lucky enough to have. How could I begrudge her that?_

"Yes. Yes I do."

* * *

_I'm not quite sure what to do with an ending... But I do know that there are so many wonderful people that I need to thank-all my fantastic reviewers (particularly Ledilettant, Sathaeri, and the amazing mille libri), everyone who has favorited, etc...It's really been a great experience. I know I haven't been the most faithful with updates (it may seem cliche, but I have been very, very busy these past few months), but I know that I've enjoyed every minute I've worked on The Empress. Again, thank you all so much!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_eruestansurana_


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